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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 








Uncle John 


































































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“ ‘ That’s old Abigail.’ ” 


(Page 70.) 


Uncle John ] 


[Frontispiece 






Uncle John 


A Novel 


By S 

G. J. Whyte-Melville 


Author of “ Holmby House,” “ Katerfelto,” 
“ The White Rose,” See., &c. 


Illustrated by S. E. Waller 


New York 

ongmanSj Green & C 


1900 


I 



714 


28 






CONTENTS 


v 


CHAP. 

I. 

The Letter-Box . • 



• 

• 


PAGE 

7 

II. 

Five o’clock Tea 



• 

« 


22 

III. 

Window Up or Down 



• 

• 


33 

IV. 

Champagne — Sweet or 

Dry? 

• 

• 

• 


46 

V. 

Plumpton Osiers 

• 

• 

• 

• 


62 

VI. 

Man-Eaters . 

• 

• 

• 

• 


77 

VII. 

Seeking Best 

• 

• 

• 

t 


89 

VIII. 

The Lion’s Den 

• 

• 

• 

• 


105 

IX. 

Sou vent Femme Yarie 

• 

• 

• 

• 


117 

X. 

Fol qui s’y fie 

• 

• 

• 



126 

XI. 

A Pearl of Price 

• 

• 

• 

• 


136 

XII. 

Duty . 

• 

• 

• 

• 


150 

XIII. 

Self-Sacrifice . 

• 

• 

• 

• 


164 

XIV. 

Mr. Dalton . 

• 

• 

• 

• 


176 

XV. 

Desolate . • 

• 

• 

• 

• 


189 

XVI. 

Play . 

• 

• 

• 

• 


199 

XVII. 

Work 

* 

• 

• 

• 


210 

XVIII. 

Mrs. Pike’s Ball 

• 

• 

• 

• 


221 

XIX. 

The Slasher 

• 


• 



232 

XX. 

A Night-house 

• 





241 


6 


CONTENTS 


CHAP. 

XXI. 

Middleton Gaol 

• 

• 



PAGE 

. 249 

XXII. 

Discharged . 

• 

• 

. 


. 260 

XXIII. 

Wanted— A Wife . 

• 

• 



. 270 

XXIV. 

Mixed Motives 

• 

• 



. 280 

XXV. 

A Friend in Need . 

• 

• 



. 291 

XXVI. 

A Friend Indeed 

• 




. 302 

XXVII. 

The Eight Man 

• 




. 312 

XXVIII. 

The Best Man 

• 

• 



. 323 

XXIX. 

Eeleased 

• 

• 



. 331 

XXX. 

Eestored . • 

• 

• 



. 341 


UNCLE JOHN 


Me forthinketh, said King Pellinore, this shall betide, but 
God may well foredoe destiny . — Morte d' Arthur. 


CHAPTER I 

THE LETTER-BOX 

Of all taxes levied on friendship few are so galling as the 
corvee that compels a guest to inspect and admire the house 
in which he is entertained. To follow your host, with wet 
feet, and hands in pockets, round the stables, the kennel, 
the farm, and, worse still, the kitchen-garden, may well 
create a doubt that you had better have stayed away ; hut 
this becomes a certainty when, in dismal attics and cheer- 
less corridors, you stumble against a coal-box or are 
brought up with your head in a housemaid’s closet. I will 
not ask my reader, therefore, to accompany me beyond the 
hall of a comfortable country-house in one of the midland 
counties ; a hall well warmed and ventilated, where a good 
fire burns opposite the glass door that looks out upon the 
lawn. It seems to blaze the more cheerfully that a hard 
frost has bound the whole country in misery and iron. 
The leafless hedges stand stiff and bristling with frozen 
rime, the bare trees in the park are clearly cut against a 
dull grey sky, the very grass crackles under the postman’s 
foot, and that functionary would seem to be the only 
moving creature in the parish but for an inquisitive robin, 
in a bright red waistcoat, with his head on one side, who 


8 


UNCLE JOHN 


hops and jerks restlessly across the gravel in front of 
the hall-door. 

In consequence of the postman’s arrival, a well-dressed 
free-and-easy butler emerges from certain hack-passages 
and corridors, bringing a draught of cold air with him, and 
proceeds to unlock the letter-box that stands in a remote 
corner on one of the hall-tables. As he tumbles out the 
contents he scrutinises their addresses with considerable 
attention. And here I may observe that a shrewd upper 
servant, who superintends the correspondence of a family, 
even when he confines himself to the outside of the many 
missives that pass through his hands, must, if, to use his 
own language, he “puts that and that together,’’ know a 
great deal more than we give him credit for. 

On the present occasion we will take upon ourselves the 
fulfilment of a task for which the butler has little leisure, 
the postman less inclination ; and, mastering the contents 
of these epistles, begin with No. I., addressed in a running, 
lady-like, not very legible hand, 

To the Hon. Mrs. Pike, South Kensington, London, SAY. 

[No date.] 

My Dearest Letty, — Not a word till I have sent a 
thousand kisses to Baby. He is the greatest darling in 
Europe, and I am sure he knew me when I wished him 
good-bye in your boudoir, the day I left London. I have 
not forgotten my promise to write, and tell you “ all how 
and about it,’’ as my maid says when she begins a full, 
untrue, and particular account of that general rumpus 
among the servants which seems to prevail regularly once a 
month. In the first place, the old house is as nice as ever, 
the country very much the reverse. The fields at this time 
of year seem impracticable without stilts, the lanes are 
knee-deep in mud, one meets cattle at all sorts of un- 
expected turns, and I think I am equally frightened 
whether they have horns or not. The labourers touch 
their hats and grin, their wives make curtseys down to the 
ground. Every woman carries a basket ; and oh ! they 
are so dirty ! Then the boys have sheep-dogs, and talk to 
them in such an extraordinary language ; but the creatures 


THE LETTER-BOX 


9 


seem to understand, nevertheless. The cottages and 
children are pretty. Perhaps it may be more tolerable in 
summer. Now for our party ; small and select, just what 
you like. Uncle John is, as he always was and always will 
be, a dear old dear ; but his whiskers are whiter than when 
I saw him last, and he seems to have grown shorter. 
Between ourselves Letty {mind !) I cannot help fancying 
that Aunt Emily is wearing him out. He is as good- 
tempered as ever, and sometimes full of fun, but I don’t 
suppose it can be natural for a man to be so patient under 
contradiction, however well he may have been broken in ; 
and I think if he could go away somewhere, by himself for 
a month or two, it would do him a world of good. You 
know him thoroughly, and love him dearly, so I need say 
no more, but pass on to his guests, taking them as they go 
in to dinner, the county people first. Uncle gives his arm 
to a Mrs. Foster, always ; I can’t think why. She has no 
particular rank, but is wife of the Master of the Hounds ; 
perhaps that counts for something down here. I won’t 
describe her, dear, I’ll only describe her head. An 
enormous chignon, of so many shades that it is almost 
tartan, put on very high up, with odds and ends stuck all 
over it, like the toys on a twelfth- cake ; a bunch of artificial 
vegetables, not flowers, drooping on one side ; earrings like 
the things they hang on a chandelier ; and — spectacles ! 
How Mr. Foster could ! for really he is rather nice; oldish, 
and ridiculous about his hunting, but good-natured and 
amusing, with a frank courtesy about him, that I think men 
of all ranks acquire who live a great deal out-of-doors. He 
is wretched just now, because it is freezing hard and they 
can’t hunt. I am sure I don’t know why ; any amount of 
cold must be preferable to the slush we have all been 
wading about in ever since I came down. He is quite the 
nicest of the gentlemen, for the young ones are rather 
detestable. A curate from the other side of the county, 
who is a wonderful cricketer, I believe, and takes long 
walks by himself. They say he preaches beautifully, and 
next Sunday we shall have an opportunity of judging ; as 
yet I have not heard him open his lips. Also two officers 
from some cavalry regiment, whose figures, clothes, and 
voices are so ridiculously alike, and their faces so devoid of 


10 


UNCLE JOHN 


all expression, that if the best-looking of the pair had not 
a trifling squint, it would be impossible to know one from 
the other. Should the ice bear to-morrow, they propose 
teaching me to skate — either or both, I can’t tell which. 
But for poor Mr. Foster and his hunting, I hope it may ; 
and only wish you were here to enjoy the fun, as they don’t 
the least know our form , to use their own expression, and 
that you and I can hold our own on the Bound Pond with 
the best performers who ever danced a minuet on steel. I 
have not made up my mind whether to pretend I am quite 
a beginner, or to astonish their weak minds by dashing out 
at once with a figure of 8, on the outside edge, backwards. 

My dear, I am coming to the end of my paper. I shall 
have no space left to describe the rest of the ladies, two 
married and one single, all plain, nor a delightful Eton 
boy, who goes back, I am sorry to say, to-morrow ; nor to 
give half the messages I should like to your dear General, 
my partner at whist, my adversary at bezique ; the only 
antagonist who never made me angry, and my pattern, next 
to Baby, for everything that is manly and adorable ; but 
with many kisses must remain, dearest, darling Letty, 

Ever your loving, 

Annie Dennison. 

P.S. — I forgot to say we expect a Mr. Mortimer to-day, 
who has been a great traveller, and a clerk from the 
Foreign Office, whose name I have not yet made out. 
Freezing hard; I think the ice will bear to-morrow. 

No. II. 

To Mr. Josias Potter, the Kennels, Cublington. 

Plumpton Priors, Jan. 12th. 

Potter, — As there appears but little chance of the 
weather changing, you had better not send out the appoint- 
ment for next week. If there is no prospect of improve- 
ment, I shall hunt the first open day at the Kennels, and 
we can give the Blastonbury Woods a good drilling with a 
strong pack of hounds. I have been thinking over Wolds- 


THE LETTER-BOX 


11 


man’s doings on Saturday, and have come to the conclusion 
we must draft him. Wildboy too is, I fear, a conceited 
hound. It is a pity, for I never saw two sightlier ones on 
the flags. I was much pleased with Frantic and Fearless. 
They puzzled it out through Martin’s sheep at the back of 
Oldborough, and were never once off the line all the way to 
the Dales. They promise to be as good as old Frolic her- 
self. You had better see Mr. Boulter at once about the 
meal, and tell Frank to go over with the cart to Sludgeley. 
Martin’s white horse will not keep much longer. 

I have a letter from the new man at Spinnithorne 
complaining of the damage done to his young wheat on 
Thursday, and another from old Miss Lovelace about her 
poultry. The usual story : a fox has taken nine Dorking 
hens, a litter of pigs, and a peacock ! As soon as the 
hacks are roughed, you can go over and talk to the 
Spinnithorne man, whose name I forget. If he is 
obstinate, tell him the damage, should there be any, shall 
be made good when harvest comes round. Miss Lovelace 
will be more difficult to manage ; but you might admire the 
silk dress I gave her last year, and hint at another, if she 
seems very obstinate indeed. When you are in that neigh- 
bourhood, ride round by the Lodges and see Colonel 
Jones’s keeper ; the people from Upper Preston are 
continually rabbiting in Preston Dene, and it is his 
business to keep them out. Mr. Miles tells me they found 
a trap that would have held a bullock in Thorpe Nether- 
wood yesterday. I have written to Sir James on the 
subject ; and 'if you see the steward, it would be well to 
mention it. He is a good friend to hunting and a most 
respectable man. I cannot think of anything more just 
now, except that you should call on the bailiff at Kingsacre 
and find out how many puppies they will walk for us. He 
promised me two couple at least. We shall want another 
cow in less than a fortnight, but that may stand over till 
Middleton Fair. I shall be home the day after to-morrow, 
when I can give any further directions you require, and 
remain 

Your friend, 

John Foster. 


12 


UNCLE JOHN 


No. III. 

To the Honourable Mrs. Pike, South Kensington, 
London, S.W. 

Plumpton Priors, Jan. Ylth, 18 th. 

Dear Mrs. Pike, — My husband desires me to write and 
say that it would give us much pleasure if General Pike and 
yourself would come here next week, from the 17th to the 
22nd, to meet a small party of friends and neighbours. 
There is a midday train from London that reaches 
Sludgeley Station, only a mile and a half from our gate, at 
4.50. You must be sure to change at Muddleford, and if 
the down express is late you may have to wait there ; but 
this is better than coming by the new line and posting from 
Canonsbury. We can send the brougham for yourselves 
and the omnibus for servants and luggage. Our niece, 
Miss Dennison, who is staying with us, tells me that she 
believes I shall be fortunate enough to find you both dis- 
engaged ; and hoping for an early reply (in the affirmative), 
I remain 

Yours very sincerely, 

Emily Dennison. 


No. IY. 

To Augustus Neville, Esq., Middlemarsh, Huntingdon. 

Jan. 11th or 13 th. 

My Dear Podge, — You swore you would write once a 
week all the holidays through, and so did I ; hut you 
haven’t, and I haven’t. Never mind. Better late than 
never : old proverb — neither Solomon’s nor Tupper’s. I 
must tip you a line from here because I go home to-morrow, 
and there is very little time for writing or anything else in 
our diggings at this season, when the governor likes to have 
a houseful. He is going to finish off the pheasants next 
week, and I made him almost promise that I might shoot 
with the others. I have got a gun, a very good one. If it 
wasn’t for that I should he quite sorry to leave this place. 


THE LETTEB-BOX 


13 


It is very jolly, particularly in the evenings ; for old 
Dennison, who is no end of a trump, always has the 
billiard-room lit up after dinner ; so if you don’t want to he 
bothered with the ladies, you needn’t go to them at all. 

I generally play with Miss Dennison ; such a stunning 
girl — a good deal older than me, of course — hut I can give 
her ten in a hundred up ; and I play much better on this 
table than I did that day at your governor’s in London. 
She sings, too, no end, the jolliest songs, that make a fellow 
feel quite in the dumps, but always English. She has a 
very fine voice though, and Lexley, a tall chap, who is 
staying here, a curate, with black hair, is rather spoony on 
her. He was not an Eton fellow, but played two years 
ago at Lord’s in the Marylebone eleven. I don’t think he 
likes us to be so much in the billiard-room, but he is an 
awful muff with a cue. I have got such a good hunter this 
Christmas ; not a pony, but quite fifteen hands. Can’t he 
just jump ! Only he pulls rather hard ; but I don’t mind 
that; and I am to have top-boots next year. I suppose 
I shan’t see you now till next half, though my governor 
told me to ask you to come to us, if you could, on your way 
back to Eton. I wish you would. I want to show you the 
terrier pups and Bellerophon — that’s my new horse. When 
he gets quieter I will give you a mount on him. Won’t it 
be jolly if we travel together? Good-bye. 

Yours very sincerely, 

H. G. F. Perigord 
(commonly called the Pieman). 


No. Y. 

To Horace Maxwell, Esq., Foreign Office, 
Whitehall, S.W. 

Plumpton Priors, Jan. lltli. 

My Dear Horace, — You have delayed your visit here so 
long that I fear I shall be gone before you arrive. I take 
the duty next Sunday, but must return home early Monday 
morning. I have no idea what happens to foreign treaties 
and ambassadors’ notes when you neglect them, but a 


14 


UNCLE JOHN 


parish gets sadly out of order if it is left to itself for ten 
days. I have still a hope that you may come to-morrow, 
particularly as you will receive another reminder from our 
excellent host, who said at breakfast he had written a strong 
letter this morning, and I wish it may he possible for you to 
give me a couple of days at least before you return. I need 
not say what a hearty welcome would await you, though, 
alas ! I have only bachelor accommodation to offer. There 
are many temptations to visit this most agreeable house, 
and many more to remain in it when you come. Mr. 
Dennison himself is my ideal of a country gentleman, and 
his wife, though not so taking at first sight, improves on 
acquaintance. 

There is no lack of amusement ; hunting and shooting, 
for those who like such sports, beautiful walks, even at this 
time of year, out-of-doors, and an excellent billiard-table 
within. One of the young ladies, a Miss Dennison, plays 
remarkably well, and has already taken the conceit out of 
an Eton boy who is spending part of his holidays here, and 
who thinks no small beer of himself, as we used to say at 
Kugby. I am sure the Etonians are more “cheeky,” to 
use another slang expression, than our condiscipiili ; still, 
the school turns out some excellent classics, and the Shoot- 
ing Fields make good cricketers, no doubt. This youth is 
a manly fellow enough, but I should imagine rather a dunce 
at his books. Miss Dennison, who is very clever, quizzes 
him unmercifully, hut the young cub has not an atom of 
shyness, and, indeed, is usually ready with a reply. It is 
very difficult to describe a lady or a landscape, so much in 
both depends on lights and colouring ; moreover, it would 
be a waste of time to detail Miss Dennison’s personal 
attractions, as you will be able to judge for yourself when 
you arrive. I shall be much disappointed if you do not 
admire her. There is a peculiar depth and softness in her 
eyes when she turns them on you that almost makes one 
a believer in mesmerism, and with a delicate fair face and 
masses of rich brown hair, that would be black but for a 
tinge of gold, she brings forcibly before me my ideal of 
female loveliness. You need not laugh. It is only a 
picture I saw the year before last at Vienna. Her figure, 
too, and all her movements, are full of grace and dignity. 


THE LETTER-BOX 


15 


To see her walk across the room is to see — no ! I will not 
descend into descriptions that could never convey the 
faintest notion of their subject. Bather will I quote the 
terse and glowing phrases in which Captain Nokes and 
Stokes, the great twin brethren of the — th Dragoons, 
expressed their approval only this morning in the con- 
servatory. 

Quoth Stokes to Nokes, sucking viciously at a refractory 
cigar, “ Good looks, good temper, good manners — what 
would you have more ? and the sweetest goer I’ve seen over 
rough and smooth since Witch of Erin won the Conynghame 
Cup.” 

Answered Nokes to Stokes, “ I’m not a buyer, old 
fellow, more’s the pity ! or she’d suit me down to the ground.” 

Yet these men are not entirely without cultivation and 
refinement. One of them sketches admirably in water- 
colours, and, passing through the library, I came upon the 
other reading Tasso in the original, apparently with the 
greatest zest. Why should they talk in such terms of a 
lady to whom they hourly offer a perfectly chivalrous and 
unselfish politeness ? I like them both, nevertheless. We 
took a long walk together yesterday that reminded me of 
old University days. Of course I love and revere my own 
profession above all others ; but were I not a parson, my 
dear Horace, I trust there is no harm in confessing that I 
should like to have been a soldier. Do not think for a 
moment I am discontented with my lot; the obscurest 
country curate has a field for the exercise of all the best 
and noblest qualities of manhood. Were my powers 
increased a hundredfold, they would still fall far short of 
my requirements. I may have my wishes, who has not ? 
The angulus ille with me, would probably be such prefer- 
ment as should enable me to make for myself a home. 
Have I seen one whom I should like to instal as its mistress ? 
Again, who knows ? Probably, the real mistress, when she 
does come, will be very different from the imaginary one. 

And now I have let this letter run to an unconscionable 
length, yet I feel as if I had not said half I wish. I will 
inflict on you the balance when we meet, and in the 
meantime remain as ever, — Yours most truly, 

Algernon Lexley. 


16 


UNCLE JOHN 


No. YI. 

To Major-General J. Pike, etc., South Kensington, 
London, S.W. 

Plumpton Priors, Jan. 12th. 

My Dear Jacob, — My wife has written to yours by to- 
day’s post, with a formal invitation to you both. I write 
to you, as usual, because I want you to do something for 
me. In the first place, of course you must come here. 
That question can admit neither of doubt nor argument. If 
you have other engagements throw them over ; if pleasures, 
postpone ; if duties, neglect them : here you are hound to 
be on the 17th at latest. I have kept Marbury Hill on 
purpose, and my keeper says he has twice as many 
pheasants in the lower wood as when we shot it last year. 
That ought to be good enough. If you can hold as straight 
as you did then, I can promise you a hundred to your own 
gun. I have been out very little, the incurable complaint 
of anno domini is beginning to tell, and though I have few 
bodily ailments, and am still pretty strong and active, that 
moral energy, which is the backbone of all exertion, fails 
day by day. 

That will never be the case with you. They say, 
though I don’t believe it, a man must die either of syncope 
or asphyxia — by fainting or suffocation. In the same way, 
age as it steals on makes us year by year more fussy or 
more torpid. How much better to be the stream that 
keeps itself pure by ceaselessly dashing and boiling against 
a rock, than the green slimy pond, never ruffled by a 
breath, but stagnating calmly and helplessly into mud ! 
You are the youngest of all our contemporaries. Long 
may you remain so ! 

And yet, my dear old friend, it does not seem so many 
years ago (can it be more than fifty?) since we won the 
Double Sculling Sweepstakes, amidst the shouts of my 
tutor’s levy, at the Brocas Clump. I remember, and so do 
you, as if it had happened yesterday, how we pounded a 
Leicestershire field at the second fence from the Coplow ; 
and yet I doubt if one of those we left behind us is alive 
now. “Where is the life that late I led?” and where, 


THE LETTER-BOX 


17 


oh ! where are the loves we loved, the sums we squandered, 
the horses we tired, and the scores of good fellows we have 
seen out ? 


“ There’s many a lad I loved is dead, 

And many a lass grown old, 

And while the lesson strikes my head 
My weary heart grows cold. 

But wine awhile staves off despair 
Nor lets a thought remain ; 

And that I think’s a reason fair 
To fill my glass again.” 

If we live to a hundred, should we ever forget how poor 
Frank used to troll out Morris’s famous drinking song after 
mess ? Alas ! if he could have resisted the filling (and 
emptying) of his own glass so persistently, we should have 
had him with us still. 

I sometimes wished that I had remained in the service, 
as you did, and married later in life. But I suppose these 
things are arranged for us, and that every station has its 
drawbacks — every horse is handicapped to carry a weight 
proportioned to his merits. As old Drill-sergeant Mac- 
pherson used to say to the recruits, “ It’s not all beer and 
skittles when you’ve taken her Majesty’s shilling.” And 
I fancy none of those over whom he domineered were 
inclined to dispute so obvious a truism. 

Now to detail the commissions I want executed in 
London. In the first place, will you go to Lincoln’s Inn, 
any day this week, and jog everybody’s memory concerning 
our trustee business ? They seem to have forgotten that 
another quarter’s interest will be due on the 25th. Also 
look in at Meerschaum’s and try if you can get me some more 
of those large cigars we liked in Scotland. I will take 
any number of boxes — say a dozen — if they are the right 
sort ; but I will not have short ones. I smoke very little, 
as you know, hut like that little long. 

You are sure to he at Tattersall’s, so it will he no trouble 
to look at Mountjoy’s horses. He has a chestnut that I 
am told would carry me. You know exactly what I want — 
something very perfect, with good manners and easy to 
ride ; a rough-actioned horse tires me to death. He must 
be a fine jumper, as I like occasionally to mount a friend, 


18 


UNCLE JOHN 


and do not wish him to be brought home with a broken 
neck — at least, as old Bitterly said, “ not to my house.” 
A chestnut horse they call Magnate bears the character of 
an excellent hunter. I will ask you to have him out and 
look him well over ; if you like his make and shape, you 
can hid for him up to whatever you think he is worth. I 
should not mind three hundred; but you must be very 
careful, for when you come here you will have to ride him 
yourself. 

I know you will like some claret I have just imported — 
Leoville ’64 — that will never get any better, and ought to 
be drunk out now. I think too you will like the little 
party staying here. Foster, I fear, will be gone ; it is 
impossible to keep him more than two days from his 
hounds and his kennel. He makes a good master, and 
they have promised him a fair subscription. Potter does 
pretty well; he is an excellent servant, as I told them 
all they would find him — very patient in the field, very 
persevering, and lets his hounds alone ; but he does not get 
quick after his fox. He never spoils a run and never 
makes one. I hunt so little now that, of course, I do not 
say much, but let them find out for themselves. You and I 
once thought every huntsman heaven-born, every fence 
practicable, every fox forward, and every hound right. I 
am not sure but that the enjoyment was greater in those 
days and the disappointment less. 

Two pleasant dragoons of the old plunging pattern will 
remain till Returns, at the end of the month ; they are 
good fellows enough — ride and shoot straight, make them- 
selves extremely agreeable in the drawing-room, and 
entertain the profoundest respect for a major-general, which 
I hope you will do nothing to lessen. I expect Percy 
Mortimer to day (from the Feejee Islands, I believe), and 
Horace Maxwell, from the Foreign Office, both very hungry 
for shooting. But never fear, not a stick shall be moved 
in Marbury till you come. My niece Annie is here, and 
looking forward with great delight to your visit. I do not 
know on what principle she has appropriated you, but she 
always speaks of you as her General. Tell Mrs. Pike, 
with our kindest regards, that I will never forgive her if she 
does not bring the baby. There is a steady old rocking 


THE LETTER-BOX 


19 


horse still eating his head off under the stairs ; I wish you 
would both stay till your son is old enough to ride him. 
And now, my dear fellow, hoping to see you very soon, 

I remain, yours as ever, 

John Dennison. 


No. VII. 

To Percy Mortimer, Esq., Travellers’ Club, Pall Mall, 
London, S.W. 

Dear Percy, — Not having seen or heard anything of you 
since we parted at Meerut, it did knock the wind out of me 
more than a bit to be told you were expected here this 
week. I can only hope the tip is a straight one. Come 
by all means if you can. The crib is craftily constructed, 
warm, water-tight, and with capricious cellarage. The 
bedrooms are easy of access, and the stairs made on 
purpose for after-dinner transport. The host is a trump, 
his cook so-so, but happily not too ambitious, and his 
liquors simply undeniable. A geological party, by name 
Lexley, who is getting his health with the rest of us, says 
it is a clay soil, with a sub-something of something else. 
Being a scientific cove, you shall argue the point with him 
when you come. To me it seems a surface of hard frost, 
with a swamp underneath, that will make the country 
unrideable when it thaws. In the meantime we are getting 
the skates ready, and I — even I — am coming out as “ quite 
the ladies’ man.” I am to instruct Miss Dennison to- 
morrow in the graceful art, and can only hope she may take 
her croppers good-humouredly ; for, as Pat Conolly used 
to say, “it’s a mighty slippery hold ye get of the water 
when ye lay iron to ice.” I shall do my best to keep her 
head straight, for you don’t often meet them of that stamp. 
I’m a bad hand at describing a woman, but I’ll be bound 
you haven’t seen such a shaped one in all the Feejee 
Islands — and I give you the tattooing in. As to her 
being pretty and all that, it seems a matter of course ; hut 
she has a way of looking round at a poor fellow that makes 
him feel very glad he’s a bachelor, yet very unwilling to 
remain one. Besides, from what Mrs. Dennison let out, 


20 


UNCLE JOHN 


she stands a good chance of having a pot of money when 
some old buffer dies, and he’s past seventy now. Mrs. D. 
speaks by the card, I fancy ; I know I shouldn’t like to 
contradict her, and I am sure Dennison wouldn’t. I 
should say she wants her head at her fences, and would 
make it very uncomfortable for him if he didn’t mind what 
he was about. You must say “ Yes ” to her if you wish to 
sail on an even keel in this house ; and Nokes, who isn’t 
easily dashed, is obliged to behave quite prettily when she’s 
got her eye on him. The niece seems the only person who 
isn’t afraid of her, and I take it there’s some hard hitting 
when they do have a turn-up. I don’t understand women, 
having had a very few dealings with them, for which I can’t 
be too thankful ; but it does seem to me that it takes a 
woman to tackle a woman, and you can’t do better than 
let them fight it out. Miss Dennison looks a good- 
tempered girl too, but no doubt she has lots of pluck. 

The shooting is fair, considering it’s a hunting country, 
and Uncle John, as everybody calls our host, is very abso- 
lute on the subject of pheasants and foxes. He insists on 
having the latter, and when he has established that point, 
he says, he finds no difficulty about the other. It is the 
only subject on which I have yet heard him hold forth, for 
he is by no means a noisy one — would rather listen than 
speak and rather smoke than do either. Nokes, who is 
also a nailer at holding his tongue, swears by him, of 
course. 

I meant to tell you about the country and the hunting, 
and all that, in case you should bring any horses ; but in this 
weather shooting and skating irons are the necessary outfit. 
So I will only add, come if you can ; if not, scrape me off 
one line to say where I am to draw for you in the village on 
my way to headquarters. 

Yours very truly, 

Anthony Stokes. 

To the Hall Porter, Army and Navy Club, S.W. 

Jan . Yltli. 

Please forward my letters. Address, “ Plumpton Priors, 
Middleton Lacy,” till further orders, instead of putting 
them in the fire as usual. James Nokes. 


THE LETTER-BOX 


21 


If people’s characters are to be guessed from their hand- 
writing, we may fairly suppose that their actual correspond- 
ence will afford us something more certain than mere 
surmise as to their habits, tempers, tastes, and dispositions. 
It is for this reason we have taken such unwarrantable 
liberties with the letter-box at Plumpton Priors. 


CHAPTER II 


FIVE O’CLOCK TEA 

“ This is one of our noblest institutions, Captain Nokes. 
I see you never miss it.” 

The Captain, gorgeously attired in yellow knickerbockers 
and purple hose, looked round to assure himself that Stokes 
was “ in support.” Encouraged by the presence of his 
comrade, similarly attired, he charged boldly up to the tea- 
table at which Miss Dennison had taken her seat. 

“ Nothing fetches a fellow like a cup of tea at this time 
of day, and a cigar afterwards.” The Captain made a 
sudden pull-up, as if fearful of having committed a solecism, 
adding somewhat inconsequently, “ Of course, if there are 
ladies and that, you know, one don’t want to smoke, you 
know. A man can’t have everything.” 

“ You’re quite a philosopher,” replied Miss Dennison, 
with one of her brightest smiles, as she filled the cups. 
“ But don’t you always have tea in your barracks ? I’ve 
heard a great deal about the evening meal. I know what 
‘ telling off ’ is, and a kit, and a canteen. I’m rather a 
military person, you observe. I confess I do like soldiers, 
Captain Nokes ! ” 

Honest Nokes, than whom no man alive had better nerve 
to confront a swift bowler or an awkward fence, looked 
seriously alarmed at this frank avowal, withdrawing his 
chair at least a couple of feet from so dangerous a neighbour- 
hood. His comrade, however, came opportunely to the 
rescue. 

“ And officers, Miss Dennison,” added Stokes, with a 
glance from his best eye. 

“ Not unless they are generals,” returned the young 


FIVE O'CLOCK TEA 


23 


lady. “ You see I’ve got a general of my own. A major - 
general. At least he belongs to a great friend of mine. He 
is to be here next week.” 

“ Who’s to be here next week?” demanded the sharp 
clear tones of Mrs. Dennison, from her knitting at the 
other end of the room. “What are you talking about, 
Annie ? ” 

“ Only the Pikes, aunt,” replied Miss Dennison. 
“ Uncle told me he had asked them himself.” 

“ Your uncle did not ask them himself, at least to my 
knowledge,” retorted the other severely. “ I should think 
even Mr. Dennison would hardly ignore his wife so com- 
pletely. I believe it is usual for such invitations to 
originate with the lady of the house, and I have not yet 
quite forfeited my claim to that position ; so you shouldn’t 
state a fact that you are unable to substantiate.” 

Annie looked uncomfortable, and one of those irksome 
silences supervened which everybody longs to break, while 
nobody can think of anything to say. 

Mrs. Dennison had quick ears. Is it possible that she 
heard her husband hunting for a newspaper in the library 
adjoining, and spoke for his edification? Nokes coloured, 
Stokes winked, and Mr. Lexley, gulping a mouthful of hot 
tea, raised such a blister on his tongue as endangered the 
utility of that organ for next Sunday’s sermon. 

The entrance of young Perigord, bright and flushed from 
the crisp outward air, was felt to be a relief by all. 

“ You should have stayed till the moon rose,” exclaimed 
the Etonian, throwing himself into a chair, and com- 
mencing a voracious attack on the bread-and-butter. “ It’s 
so jolly skating by moonlight. And I say, Miss Dennison, 
I did such a stunning spread-eagle after you left. Do you 
think if I was to practise every day, I should be good 
enough for the Round Pond ? How I wish I wasn’t going 
away to-morrow ! ” 

“ We shall miss you very much,” answered the young 
lady. “ You certainly keep us all alive down here. Pray 
do they teach skating at Eton, as they do swimming” — 
she paused for a moment — “ and slang ? ” 

The boy laughed, “ You’re always chaffing a fellow,” 
was his reply, “but I like to be chaffed by you, (Yes, 


24 


UNCLE JOHN 


please, another cnp and a slice of the cake.) I say, wasn’t 
it fun to see you strike out from the chair, when Captain 
Nokes thought you meant going a header, and cut a figure 
of 8 without lifting your heel from the ice? Why you 
skate like — like — like bricks ! I wish I was only half as 
steady, I’d belong to the Skating Club to-morrow.” 

“You astonished us all,” said Mr. Lexley, putting down 
his empty cup. “ I confess I was a little alarmed till I 
saw how thoroughly you were mistress of your feet. A slip 
on the ice is very dangerous, Miss Dennison,” added the 
divine, with a soft look and something approaching to a 
blush. 

She laughed merrily, while Stokes, remembering a 
French proverb bearing on the subject, refrained with 
difficulty from quoting it then and there. 

“ I have skated ever since I was ten,” said Annie. “ I 
liked it much better than my lessons, and learned the out- 
side edge a good deal quicker than the ‘History of England.’ 
It’s not half so difficult as people think ! ” 

“Not for ladies,” interposed Stokes, who felt he was 
coming out. “They do anything that requires ‘knack’ far 
better than men. Why in a dozen lessons you may teach 
them to ride, and a dragoon can’t learn under two years.” 

“It’s only because they ride with longer reins than we 
do,” observed Nokes. 

“ Don’t you think they have more delicacy of touch, and 
therefore a lighter hand on the bridle ! ” said Lexley. 

“ They’ve always got the easiest horse in the stable, and 
lie’s galloped before they get on, at least that is my sister’s 
dodge,” said young Perigord. 

“We have more patience than you have, and more tact,” 
replied Annie, with a mischievous glance; “qualities that 
subdue the inferior nature of the enemy.” 

“ More obstinacy, you mean, and more cunning,” was 
Aunt Emily’s amendment, in her harshest tones, as she 
swept by the tea-table for some worsted. “ The nobler the 
animal the easier it is to deceive. That’s the secret of 
many a woman’s success in matters of far greater importance 
than riding out of one field into another.” 

“ Bravo, Mrs. D. ! ” exclaimed the incorrigible Etonian. 
“Five to two the best of that round, I think. Now my 


FIVE O'CLOCK TEA 


25 


experience of women, is that they do everything well they 
really like, and yon can’t tire them, even the delicate ones, 
with any amount of larks, in the shape of picnics, croquet, 
archery, tea-parties, meets of hounds, dancing, driving, 
and racketing about ; hut they’re soon heat if you keep 
them at home, with the blinds down on a wet day.” 

A general laugh, aroused by the gravity with which this 
young gentleman expressed his sentiments, brought Mr. 
Dennison into the room, and a place was immediately 
cleared for “ Uncle John ” at the tea-table, while his wife, 
looking austerely in the face of her youthful guest with the 
intention of administering some cutting rebuke on his flip- 
pancy, could not forbear a smile, as he winked solemnly, 
stuffed a large piece of cake in his mouth, and made a face 
like the clown in a pantomime — an accomplishment to 
which he devoted much of his leisure and of which he was 
exceedingly proud. 

Aunt Emily’s ill-humour was not proof against the boy’s 
exuberant spirits and intense enjoyment of life. Though 
he provoked her, worried her, broke through her rules and 
made light of her ordinances, she could not find it in her 
heart to reprove him as she felt he deserved, and for no 
member of the establishment, from its head downwards-, 
was she half so forbearing as for this young scapegrace, 
who offended and amused her alternately every hour of the 
day. 

Half a century ago, when John Dennison married her, 
Miss Emily Bland was as fresh, florid, and joyous-looking 
a girl as you would see at rural flower show or county 
races. She had plenty of partners, was never without an 
admirer to carry her shawl at a picnic, or string her bow at 
an archery meeting ; but, somehow, partners and admirers 
did not get beyond waltzing and admiration ; there was 
something feminine wanting in the straightforward, out- 
spoken young lady, that a cleverer woman would have 
supplied with affectation. A far less amiable person might 
have been more beloved, if only for the little airs and graces 
that, however transparent, seem so appropriate to the softer 
sex. Nobody went home haunted by Emily Bland’s eyes, 
with Emily Bland’s voice ringing in his ears, and a flower 
from Emily Bland’s bouquet to place in water on his 


26 


UNCLE JOHN 


dressing-table. There is a magic in most women, if only 
exercised on the right subject, that seems quite independent 
of personal beauty or mental advantages ; a charm that, 
in his mind who has come under the spell, connects her 
with all the comeliness, the excitement, and the interests 
of his life. He feels it in every kind of incongruous object 
and situation : in the violets that scent a woodland solitude, 
the patchouli that floats about a crowded opera box, in the 
carol of a thrush on a spring morning, and the wail of a 
German waltz pealing at midnight, so sweet, so sad, so 
dear, because of the dancers who have departed and the 
days that are dead. In the glow of success, or the con- 
sciousness that he has borne him gallantly under defeat — 
in the strain of study and the pleasant merriment of 
relaxation — in the river, the sky, the woods, the downs, the 
sunlight on his brow and the free fresh turf beneath his feet 
— in the chime of bells, the voices of children, the loving 
welcome of his dog, the solemn glances of his favourite 
horse — in all and everything that constitute his identity, 
she has her share ; so, finding she pervades his heart, he 
determines that, without her, existence is a blank, and 
takes her to himself, to discover, alas ! too often, that, as a 
wife, she pervades it no more. Then come disappointment, 
discontent, recrimination, implied if not expressed. Human 
nature, in spite of experience, opining that life should 
be a path of flowers, feels ill used. The man suspects he 
was a fool, the woman considers herself a martyr ; by the 
time each is reconciled to the inevitable years have passed 
away, and the moment has come to say “ Good-bye.” 
Perhaps not till lies between them the mysterious gulf, so 
narrow yet so impassable, that we call the grave, does 
either really know how loving was the other, And how 
beloved. 

But Emily Bland had her romance too, a romance laid 
by in that secret storehouse where we put away our relics, 
and seem to hoard them the more religiously the more worn 
and useless they have become, 

“ And the name of the isle is the Long Ago, 

And we bury our treasures there : ” 

but ever and anon the mists clear away from the island, 


FIVE O'CLOCK TEA 


27 


and it stands out bright and shining, as if but an hour’s 
sail from our bark, while the treasures flash and sparkle as 
of yore, because for one dreamy moment we can forget that 

“ The brows of beauty and bosoms of snow 
Are heaps of dust, though we loved them so ! ” 

and that the cold night of reality will fall on us darker and 
drearier for that delusive flash, half memory, half fancy, 
which it may be, after all, is a soul’s foresight of the coming- 
dawn that shall bring eternal day. 

Emily Bland’s romance, however, she kept to herself, 
and when John Dennison, young, amiable, full of life, 
spirits, and a certain genial softness of manner, attractive 
to men as to women, made his appearance at her father’s 
house, and paid her the usual attentions of such guests to 
their hosts’ daughter, she was not disinclined to hear his 
praises from maiden aunts and married chaperons, who held 
that the first qualification for a husband was a large landed 
estate, while, if that estate was unincumbered, and the man 
seemed good-natured, well-principled, and agreeable in 
manner, why so much the better. 

All these requirements John Dennison amply fulfilled, 
and, if his old schoolfellows and brother officers were to 
be believed, a kinder heart, a more amiable disposition, 
were never lodged in twelve stone of symmetry and good 
looks. Many women would have loved him dearly, perhaps 
many did. If not “ boisterous as March,” he was at least 
“ fresh as May,” and could identify himself with their 
interests, amusements, likes and dislikes, in a pleasant off- 
hand way, especially gratifying to their sex which pardons 
every offence more readily than neglect. 

So he fell in love with Emily Bland as a young good- 
humoured country squire, who has sold out of his regiment 
and is on the look-out for a wife, seems prone to fall in love 
— easily, painlessly, without those self-depreciating mis- 
givings that render the cold fits of this intermittent malady 
so uncomfortable. His attachment neither kept him awake 
nor took away his appetite, did not even provoke him to 
write poetry, nor smoke inordinately, nor depart in any 
way from the usual habits of active indolence that a landed 


28 


UNCLE JOHN 


proprietor with a good agent almost necessarily adopts. If 
he rode a turn harder with the hounds I do not think it 
was owing to Miss Bland’s presence in an open carriage at 
the meet ; and when he got his famous score of three figures 
off the round-hand howling, which was then a new art, I 
happen to know Miss Bland was on a visit to her aunt a 
hundred miles away, and did not even look in the county 
paper for its flowery account of the match. 

So they were married ; and it is only fair to say that it 
took them many weeks to discover they were utterly un- 
suited, had but few interests and no ideas in common. 
What may have been Miss Bland’s ideal of a bridegroom 
this is not the place to inquire ; but it was apparently 
something very different from kindly, clear-faced, open- 
hearted John Dennison. She took no pains to conceal 
from him the unflattering opinions she held of his intellect, 
his prowess, even his personal good looks, and he accepted 
the situation with a resigned philosophy creditable to so 
young a man, for whom many women would have liked to 
throw the fly and set the trimmer, undeterred by considera- 
tions of property or propriety, as is often the case with 
pretty anglers, who dearly love to inveigle their fish from 
other people’s waters. 

Ninety-nine men out of a hundred are soured by such 
disappointments ; but the exception emerges from his ordeal 
mellowed, softened, improved, like a cask of Madeira that 
has doubled the Cape. Uncle John carried his burden, 
whatever it was, without complaint, and indeed seemed 
mildly cheerful under its weight, even at an age when it 
began to curve the falling shoulders and press the shrinking 
stature down towards the earth. 

He looked more than his years now, taking his seat at 
the tea-table, with bent form and stiffened gestures ; but 
the light of youth still kindled in his eye, and a smile 
joyous as that of the boy whom he addressed was on his 
face while he pressed the Etonian to remain over the 
morrow for one more day’s practice at the art of which he 
seemed so enthusiastic a votary. 

“ I’ll send you to the station to catch the early train 
next morning, and you’ll be home for luncheon by three 
o’clock at the latest. I suppose, though, you can’t get up. 


FIVE O'CLOCK TEA 


29 


You young ones like bed, and I’m not sure you’re wrong. 
It’s the best place in this cold weather.” 

Young Perigord scouted the accusation. “ Bed, Mr. 
Dennison ? I should never go to bed at all, if I had my 
way. I should like to hunt or skate all day, and sit up all 
night playing billiards and smoking. Bed is only fit for 
old women.” 

“ And old men,” added his host. “ Your plan of life 
sounds extremely useful. Unfortunately it would not last 
very long. No — no, my boy, hunting and skating as much 
as you like, but never stay up after twelve, except at a ball. 
Wherever the small hours are without the presence of ladies, 
there is mischief going on. Don’t you agree with me, 
Annie? ” 

“No, I don’t,” said Annie; “that’s the time we do a 
good deal of ours. But Mr. Perigord has a large shooting- 
party to entertain. We cannot hope he will sacrifice all 
his smart friends to us” 

“It’s not that!” exclaimed the boy eagerly. “But 
papa expects me, you know. And I shouldn’t like to dis- 
appoint him, you know, though of course I’d much rather 
stay here.” 

“ That’s right, my lad,” said Uncle John. “ I’ll order 
the dog-cart to be ready at your own time to-morrow. Better 
have an hour or two on the ice before you go, and tell your 
father from me, as he won’t come and stay here himself, 
he must let you pay us a longer visit next year.” 

“ And I shall see you in London,” exclaimed the young 
gentleman, addressing Annie with much empressement. 
“I’m safe to be in town, you know, for the Easter 
holidays and the Public School matches.” 

“You’ll have forgotten me by Easter,” answered Miss 
Dennison, laughing. “ Besides, we’re not likely to meet. 
I’m -a very quiet person, and don’t go to half-a-dozen balls 
in a season.” 

“Balls! ” repeated the youth, with profound contempt. 
“ You don’t suppose I’d be seen at a ball? No — no. I’d 
rather go in for dinners and all that, only people don’t ask 
a fellow about much till he’s got whiskers. I dare say mine 
will be quite out of the common, but there’s no appearance 
of them yet.” 


30 


UNCLE JOHN 


“If you sit there talking nonsense you’ll be late again, 
Annie, as you were last night,” interposed the warning 
voice of Mrs. Dennison. “ You’ve barely three-quarters of 
an hour to dress now.” 

“ That clock gallops, aunt,” replied the young lady, with 
a glance at the chimney-piece. “ Still great results cannot 
he attained without pains and patience. Tell me who is 
coming, and I shall regulate my get-up accordingly. 

Mrs. Dennison looked black, while Uncle John answered 
with a laugh : 

“London dandies, Annie — no use wasting too much finery 
on them. They’re used to it, and would he more impressed 
with simplicity, and — what d’ye call it? — hook-muslin.” 

“ Ah ! I know the London dandies well enough, and, for 
the matter of that, all dandies are much the same,” replied 
Annie ; whereat Mr. Lexley, who was not a dandy, looked 
pleased. “ But I mean who else is there ? Country neigh- 
bours, or anything of that kind ? ” 

“ Two officers from the Fort,” said her uncle. 

“ Infantry officers ? ” demanded Stokes and Nokes in a 
breath. 

“ They are and they are not” replied Mr. Dennison. 
“Having a fort in our neighbourhood, commanded on all 
sides by wooded heights, we have also a battery. Now you 
cannot call the gunners infantry officers, because they are 
liable to be mounted at any time, which is a great advantage 
if they want to run away.” 

“ They’re not cavalry,” said Nokes. 

“All officers are dandies,” observed Miss Annie. “It’s 
my great objection to the service.” 

Nokes looked helplessly at his comrade, who felt called 
upon to take up the glove thus thrown down. 

“ Don’t say so, Miss Dennison,” he expostulated. 
“ Didn’t the Duke of Wellington declare the dandies made 
his best soldiers? And what was it Dr. Johnson or some- 
body said about fellows being slovens and beasts if they 
weren’t dandies. Fancy being a sloven, Miss Dennison ! 
Why it’s worse than being a beast ! ” 

“ The greatest swell I ever saw,” interposed young 
Perigord, “ was a troop sergeant-major of heavy dragoons. 
Neither of you could hold a candle to him for manners, 


FIVE O'CLOCK TEA 


81 


moustaches, and general swagger. Besides, he was a very 
handsome fellow too.” 

“ Which you mean to imply we are not ? ” laughed 
Stokes. “All the more reason for availing ourselves of the 
decorative art. Miss Dennison, though you don’t require 
any such assistance I see you are going to refit. Let me 
light you a candle.” 

On reflection half an hour afterwards, while tying his 
white neckcloth, Stokes thought he had worded his little 
compliment rather neatly, though he feared it was lost on 
its object, who took her candle as usual from Mr. Lexley, 
and followed Aunt Emily demurely upstairs, under the 
portraits of many various coloured Dennisons, from the last 
squire in scarlet coat and hunting-cap to the Queen Eliza- 
beth’s Dennison, of whom the family were proud, in peaked 
beard and trunk hose. 

There is a great deal in habit. Lexley had acquired a 
habit of lighting Miss Dennison’s candle, offering her wine- 
and-water at night, which she invariably refused, and 
shaking hands with her when he came down to breakfast, 
even if he did not drop into the vacant place at her side. 
To have missed any one of these observances would already 
have been felt as a slight contrariety in the day’s pleasure ; 
and although he would not have admitted that her presence 
affected his enjoyment of his visit one way or the other, he 
knew he had never spent so happy a time at the Priors 
before. There are two periods of life when the companion- 
ship of an agreeable and pretty woman seems insensibly 
but very pleasantly to enhance a man’s daily comfort and 
well-being : before he has begun and after he has left off 
caring too much. In the first case, like a recruit learning 
the use of his new weapons, he acquires a daily increase of 
self-confidence and self-respect ; in the second, like a veteran 
at a review, he scans with critical eye and profound respect 
for his own judgment the display prepared for his gratifica- 
tion, admiring it none the less that for him the cartridges 
are now blank, and the manoeuvres, however skilful, but 
the marches and countermarches of a sham fight. 

Algernon Lexley had never yet been in action; was 
indeed in this respect a fine young recruit, perfectly raw 
and undrilled. In the society of Miss Dennison he felt 


32 


UNCLE JOHN 


elevated, invigorated, and, as he himself thought, humanised. 
He began to wish his strong sinewy hands were whiter, and 
to he critical as to the shape of his boots. 

To-night, dressing for dinner, none the less carefully 
that the grating of wheels, ringing of hells, and bumping of 
boxes along the passage portended a new arrival, he was 
unusually careful in tying his white neckcloth, and hunted 
for a pin wherewith to fasten on his breast the flower he 
would be sure to find laid out for him on a table at the 
drawing-room door. 

When the heathens offered a calf to Jupiter, I fancy they 
always dressed it up in garlands, and no doubt the poor 
thing, gratified with its decorations, nibbled at the 
blossoms quite contentedly, unconscious it was so soon to 
be made veal. 




CHAPTEK III 


WINDOW UP OB DOWN 

A man may have travelled all over the world, including the 
Feejee Islands, yet find himself somewhat confused on the 
platform of one of our great railway stations, when a through 
train is starting for the other end of the kingdom. His 
luggage has disappeared on the shoulders of different porters 
in different directions, a barrowful of portmanteaus threatens 
his toes, a woman doubtfully sober, with a baby undoubtedly 
sick, offends his eye, and a shrill-voiced hoy proclaiming 
the daily papers splits the drum of his ear. He has put 
his silver into the wrong pocket, probably without counting 
his change, and must undo all his wraps to get at the ticket 
it is necessary for an official to inspect. He wants to smoke, 
though not in a smoking compartment, and finds every 
carriage full, but one which is placarded “Engaged,” 
while, lest force of character and clearness of intellect 
should rise superior to and dominate these reverses, a 
fiend in velveteen completes his discomfiture by ringing 
a hand-bell, which deafens, stupefies, and reduces the 
victim to utter idiotcy and prostration. 

Even Percy Mortimer and Horace Maxwell, the one a 
traveller from China to Peru, the other a citizen of the 
world, who knew his London from Dan to Beersheba, 
from the Agricultural Hall, Islington, let us say, to the 
Consumptive Hospital, Brompton, found themselves sepa- 
rated at the moment of entering the train that was about to 
take them down to Plumpton Priors, and defeated in their 
intention of travelling together that they might smoke in 
silence, and so thoroughly enjoy each other’s conversation 
and society. That Maxwell acted quite loyally by his 

3 33 


34 


UNCLE JOHN 


friend I am not prepared to assert. While Mortimer, 
with the assistance of an invaluable servant, who never 
listened, never spoke, and never forgot, was establishing 
himself, his wraps, his travelling-bag, his luncheon-basket, 
his books, his pamphlets, and his newspapers, in the back 
seat of a first-class carriage, Horace, who had been buying 
* Punch ’ at the book-stall, spied an attractive face and a 
remarkably well-gloved hand, belonging to a solitary lady 
in an adjoining compartment, and, either by good luck or 
skilful play, timed his departure so cleverly that had the 
guard not bundled him unhesitatingly into the seat opposite, 
he must have been left behind on the platform, which perhaps 
was no more than he deserved. 

In common with many other young men of like education 
and habits, he could not resist the temptation of a pretty 
face accidentally encountered in railway, steamboat, ex- 
hibition, theatre, or other public place, where people are 
thrown on their own resources for an introduction. The 
uncertainty as to how they may be received seems to give a 
zest to the cautious advances such men delight in making 
under such circumstances, and they find no doubt a spice 
of romance in their ignorance of the lady’s antecedents, in 
the extreme improbability of meeting her again, and in 
the insane probability that here, at last, has been struck 
by blindest chance the vein of gold that shall adorn and 
enrich a lifetime. In spite of its folly and its danger, a 
leap in the dark has always proved fascinating to human 
nature, and, taken hand-in-hand with a pretty woman, men 
seldom pause to ask themselves what there is on the other 
side. 

But was she a pretty woman ? Maxwell, scrutinising 
her from behind his * Punch ’ by instalments, as it were and 
without staring, considered the question more than once 
before he decided in the affirmative. 

She was not young, that was clear, not what he called 
young, in the flower and prime of manhood. She might 
have been five-and-twenty, or five-and-thirty — the bright- 
ness of her hair, eyes, and complexion denoted the earlier 
age, while there was something of repose, even dignity, in 
her bearing and gestures, seldom acquired by women till 
they have lost the fresher charms of youth. There is no 


WINDOW UP OB DOWN 


35 


mistaking the cut flowers of the drawing-room for their 
ungathered sisters in the garden. Her right hand was 
ungloved, and on its fourth finger were massed three or 
four hoop rings, very suggestive of wedding presents. 

“Yes,” thought Horace, “that’s a married woman’s 
hand, and a very pretty hand it is. Just what I like: 
white, well-shaped, rather strong, and not too small. I 
wish she’d take off her other glove, and I should know for 
certain ; though after all, what can it matter to me ? ” 

Then he tried to fix his attention on ‘ Punch,’ and found 
it was no use, so resumed the scrutiny of his vis-a-vis. 

She was tall, that he inferred from the graceful indolence 
of her attitude as she leaned back in the low deep-cushioned 
seat ; tall, and, unless he was much deceived by a seal-skin 
jacket, formed rather in the mould of Juno than Hebe. 
Her complexion was pale, but with the pallor of a delicate 
skin, not a languid circulation ; and her clear-cut features, 
like those we see on a cameo, were almost stern in their 
regularity. It was a face that looked as if it could be very 
immovable, very pitiless, yet that it would be well worth 
while to rouse into expression should the statue wake up 
to life. The hair, of a golden brown, was pulled tightly 
back in the severest style of modern fashion, a style only 
becoming when it grows, as it did here, exactly where it 
ought on the forehead and temples. Her ears were perfect, 
in colour and shape like little shells, and undisfigured by 
earrings. 

As they came to the first tunnel Maxwell decided that, 
with eye-brows and eye-lashes a shade darker, this would 
be one of the best-looking women he ever saw in his 
life. 

What a long tunnel it was ! Emerging into day, he 
caught her eye in the act of scanning her fellow-traveller 
by lamp-light. This emboldened him to speak ; but 
behold ! they w r ere once more in darkness ; and he was 
glad of it, for Horace, usually ready enough with his 
tongue, found he had nothing to say. 

At last they came out into the open country, flying 
through the green pastures that skirt London, at the 
rate of fifty miles an hour. 

She was sitting with her back to the engine ; but the 


36 


UNCLE JOHN 


old excuse served for a beginning, and lie asked her if she 
would like the window up or down? 

In the few words with which she answered he detected a 
certain tone used in that artificial state of society which he 
called “ the world.” 

She spoke graciously enough, but with a perfect self- 
possession that told him he was in the presence of an 
equal, who would accept politeness as her due, without 
being the least flurried or flattered by his attentions. 

Horace Maxwell could think of nothing better to say 
than that “ it was very cold, though it looked like a thaw ; 
but nothing ivas so cold as a thaw.” 

“ Colder than a frost ? ” she asked with a smile ; and 
added, “ I am the worst possible judge of weather; but I 
always fancy London is warmer than anywhere else.” 

“Do you like London?” said Horace, who had been 
looking in vain for a name on her dressing-case, a monogram 
on her travelling-bag, anything to identify his new ac- 
quaintance, and now thought he saw his way to a discovery. 
“People say it’s the best place to live in. Perhaps you 
don’t think so. Perhaps you don’t live there ? ” 

She smiled again, but it was rather a bitter smile. 

“ I don’t live anywhere,” she answered. “ I vegetate, 
but, unlike most vegetables, I am not at all susceptible to 
weather, and, indeed, I care little about places. It’s the 
same thing over and over again, whether you’re in London 
or Paris, or Kamschatka or Japan.” 

“ And you’ve been to them all ? ” said Maxwell in an 
accent of incredulity. “ Why, you must have travelled 
round the world ! ” 

“Not exactly,” she answered, “but though it sounds 
strange, I assure you I could find my way about St. 
Petersburg as easily as the Regent’s Park, which rather 
reminds me of it ; and I don’t know that I should be quite 
desorientee if you dropped me in the main street of Jeddo.” 

At the Foreign Office, it is to be presumed, the names at 
least of these places are known and their respective distances 
from the meridian of Greenwich. 

“ You take my breath away ! ” said Maxwell. “You 
seem to have been everywhere. You must be very fond of 
travelling.” 


WINDOW UP OB DOWN 


37 


“ On the contrary, I hate it. I never wish to leave 
England again, and I never will.” 

While she spoke the delicate lips tightened, and there 
came into the beautiful features that look of determination 
which no man ever contemplates with pleasure on a woman’s 
face. 

“Then why did you go?” was the natural question, 
hastily amended by adding, “ I beg your pardon, I have 
no right to ask.” 

She seemed to recognise the apology. 

“ I need not answer if I don’t like,” she said frankly and 
pleasantly, “hut I will. I went because I couldn’t help 
myself. I went because I had no more power of resistance 
than the wave has when the wind beats it into spray against 
a rock. I went for the same reason a free African leaves 
his hut, and his wives, and his grease, and matting, and 
all that makes his happiness and his home, to cross the 
sweltering Bight of Benin in the hold of a slaver. I’ve 
seen something of that too. No, I am not a soft-hearted 
person ; hut I was sorry for the slaves. They were like me; 
they went because they couldn’t help themselves.” 

She looked very handsome now, brightening while she 
spoke, and Maxwell thought that in a comfortable yacht, 
with all seafaring means and appliances, he should not 
mind even the Bight of Benin with so charming a shipmate. 

“ I thought ladies never did anything against the grain,” 
said he, trying hack on the old worn theme of woman’s 
wilfulness and woman’s superiority. “ I thought that by 
hook or by crook they always managed to have their own 
way.” 

“ Then you must know very little about them,” was the 
answer ; and Maxwell felt so staggered that while they flew 
through two whole parishes he held his tongue. 

Very little about them — he, a trained campaigner of at 
least five seasons ! — Not a dandy, because there are no 
dandies now, hut a dancing-man of the highest quality and 
calibre — who was asked everywhere, whom everybody knew, 
who had even led cotillons in the small hours, encouraged 
by good-humoured smiles from the most illustrious of guests 
— who had held, ever since he left school, that the proper 
study of mankind was woman, and that making love was the 


38 


UNCLE JOHN 


only pastime which could be permitted to interfere with 
hunting in the programme of a gentleman’s occupations ! 
And now to be told that he knew very little about them ! 
If it was really so he had better give up the whole thing, 
marry, and settle down into a fogy at once. 

When sufficiently recovered to begin again it was too late 
to try back on the old line, so he plunged boldly into a 
fresh subject with the following original remark : 

“ What a good train this is ! We only stop once at 
Muddleford Junction, and once again between that and 
Sludgeley, where, I am sorry to say, I get out.” 

“So do I,” she replied, with something approaching a 
smile. 

“How odd ! ” he said. “ Somehow, I fancied that you 
were going right through. I don’t know why, I thought 
you had arranged yourself in this carriage for a long 
journey, and when the guard put me in I was afraid I 
might be in your way.” 

Detecting perhaps the insincerity of this flagrant state- 
ment, she deserved credit for the perfectly grave politeness 
with which she answered : 

“ Not at all. I never can see that one person is justified 
in monopolising the accommodation for six ; and I am such 
an experienced traveller as to be well able to take care of 
myself.” 

“ Then, I fear, I can be of no use to you at Sludgeley,” 
said he. “ I meant to have offered all kinds of assistance, 
but you must take the will for the deed.” 

“I am equally grateful,” she answered. “But I have 
ordered a carriage to meet me, and even if it should fail 
I do not see quite how you could help. It would be too 
much to ask you to carry a lady’s wardrobe, distributed in 
two large trunks, and a bonnet-box, though, to be sure, they 
are lighter than they look.” 

“ That depends on how far you are going,” he laughed. 
“For a short distance it might be done by taking one 
package at a time. I hope it’s not a long drive,” he 
added, tenderly ; “it gets dark so soon at this time of 
year.” 

“ Not very,” she answered, parrying the insidious question 
as to her destination. “ Though too long for a walking 


WINDOW UP OB DOWN 


39 


expedition with a load on one’s back. But here we are 
at Muddleford. I should be obliged to you if you could get 
me a cup of tea. The platform looks so wet and sloppy, I 
bad rather not get out.” 

Of course he was delighted, profuse in offers of every 
other refreshment, and particular in inquiries as to whether 
she liked sugar, and how much milk, and shouldn’t he bring 
a biscuit? etc. Though while he went on his errand a 
horrid and unjustifiable suspicion came across him that this 
unwillingness to quit her seat might proceed from some 
physical deformity his fair fellow-traveller was anxious to 
conceal. He recollected a story hideous Adonis Brown was 
fond of telling at his club, how in the olden days of travelling 
he had fallen in love with a beautiful young lady in the 
North mail, who persistently declined to alight at any of 
their numerous stoppages because she had a wooden leg, 
but it was not till they got to Morpeth that he found it out. 
If this charming vis-a-vis should have a wooden leg too ! 
How Percy Mortimer w r ould laugh, and what a disillusion 
it would be ! Just like his luck : he was always meeting 
with disillusions! And how was he to discover the truth? 
It was a great relief when he brought her the tea to observe 
a pair of very symmetrical boots resting on the footwarmer, 
and his only anxiety while he took back the cup was lest 
Percy should see him and insist on his society as a faithful 
comrade during the remainder of the journey. 

He need not have troubled himself. That gentleman, 
with an enormous cigar in his mouth, was deep in a stiff 
controversial work, which he preferred to the conversation 
of the most intimate friend. Percy was a great reader 
when the opportunity offered, and never forgot what he 
read ; therefore it is needless to say his attention was not 
easily distracted from his book. Also, like most men who 
have learned how to rough it, he travelled with his comforts 
about him, quoting the example of one of his friends, who 
took a portmanteau full of evening clothes and French 
novels across the Himalayas, observing, with admirable 
good sense, “ I must have twelve mules for myself and 
my people. It’s only taking thirteen, and there are the 
little things one wants ready when one wants them.” 

If this principle were oftener carried out, there would be 


40 


UNCLE JOHN 


far more enjo}unent in daily life for those classes who seem 
most discontented, while they possess most of the accessories 
that mankind in general consider essential to happiness. 

The stoppage, the tea, the getting out and in, the 
effrontery with which Horace repulsed an invading party 
of one mamma, one nurse, one baby in arms, and two small 
children, by a bare-faced statement that he was just re- 
covering from whooping-cough, seemed to cement the 
acquaintance of these fellow-travellers into friendship. 
The discarded footwarmer had been replaced by a hotter 
one, of which she insisted on his taking his share; he 
arranged her wraps, pulled the window up, voted the carriage 
shook too much to read in comfort, and finally, after a 
long and desultory conversation, hazarded this touching 
suggestion : 

“ I wonder if I shall have the pleasure of seeing you 
again? ” 

“ Why not ? ” she responded gaily, “ as the French say, 
‘It is only the mountains that never come together.’ 
Many more extraordinary things happen than meeting 
people in society whom one — who have been civil to one 
in a railway ” 

“ Yes. But the world is large, and it is too provoking 
to miss the very person of all others you want to see by 
being a minute too soon or a minute too late, by taking the 
wrong turn, or calling at the wrong house. Now, if I knew 
where you were going ” 

“ You would know as much as I do, and would have no 
field for the exercise of that perseverance and ingenuity 
which I am convinced you possess. They are qualities 
that deteriorate sadly for want of exercise. When you are 
asked a riddle, don’t you hate being told the answer in the 
same breath ? ” 

“No; I don’t. Tell me the answer.” 

“ But I haven’t asked you the riddle yet. Never mind, 
our journey has been very pleasant, and here we are, I do 
believe, at my station. You have been most kind and 
attentive, and I hope we shall meet again. Good-bye.” 

The train stopped, she shook hands with him as he helped 
her from the carriage, bade a porter follow with her lug- 
gage, and left him standing on the platform, gazing after 


WINDOW UP OB DOWN 


41 


her graceful figure as it vanished through the door of 
departure 

“ With a ghost-seer’s look when the ghost disappears.” 

He did not come to himself till his friend clapped him on 
the shoulder to inform him that “Dennison had sent the 
brougham, and they had better make a start.” 

“ That’s one of the nicest women I ever came across,” 
answered Horace, like a man in a dream. “ What an 
ass I am ! She must have had her initials at least on her 
luggage, and I never thought of looking ! ” 

“ What an ass you are to care ! ” answered his friend. 
“ Surely there are enough nice women in the world without 
this one. What can it matter ? If you lose her you’ll find 
somebody else. One is as good as another, and better too, 
as the Irishman said. Jump into the brougham, and if 
you won’t smoke give me a light.” 

“Percy!” exclaimed the other, “you are a cynic — a 
heartless cynic. What has brought you to this state ? It 
can’t be experience, for I happen to know you’re not half 
as old as you look.” 

“ There is some comfort in that ! ” replied his friend with 
a grim smile. “ I congratulate you on putting the case so 
pleasantly. It’s not age, my good fellow, it’s wisdom. I 
like knowledge for its own sake. Even the knowledge that 
teaches us our gods are clay, our bricks straw, and that our 
tobacco is shamefully adulterated with cabbage-leaves and 
opium.” 

“ I never believe in you fellows who pretend you know all 
about women,” argued Horace. “ I never believe in any 
fellow who generalises. Horses have different dispositions, 
so have dogs ; sheep too, and calves, I dare say, if one 
could only find out. WTiy should one woman be exactly 
like another ? ” 

“ Why indeed?” replied his friend. “When the same 
woman is so different different days. I never said they 
were all alike — I hadn’t time ; you were in such a hurry to 
proclaim your own opinion. But I will ask you one 
question. Why is it that those who know them least 
have the highest opinion of them ? ” 

“ Omne ignotum pro magnifico , I suppose,” said Horace. 


42 


UNCLE JOHN 


“ Pro terribili, rather,” answered Percy. “ In the 
heart of man is planted a wholesome fear of his natural 
enemy. Doubtless from an instinct of self-preservation. 
Nothing amuses me more than to see a defenceless youth 
under the spells of an aggressive damsel. He is like a 
puppy playing round a cat, a little fascinated, a good deal 
puzzled ; anxious to he on better terms, and frightened out 
of his wits all the time.” 

“ And you ? I suppose you consider yourself invincible 
and impenetrable ? as wise as a serpent on this particular 
subject, and justified in thinking everybody else a fool.” 

“ You express my sentiments in the present instance 
with considerable clearness. I do not think that young 
man wise who, associating with a lady for an hour or two 
in a railway carriage, suffers his tranquillity, and con- 
sequently his digestion, to be affected by the probability that 
he will never see her again.” 

“ What has digestion got to do with it ? Hang it ! my 
digestion’s better than yours ! ” 

“ It ought to be. You take frightful liberties with it, 
and, I imagine, know no more about the delicate and 
beautiful mechanism of the human stomach than you do 
about the works in your watch. My dear fellow, I could 
tell you some most interesting facts bearing on appetite and 
its consequences, but that the organ we are at present dis- 
cussing in not the liver — only the heart.” 

“ Heart ! I don’t believe you ever had one ! By Jove, 
Percy, I should — yes, I should like to see a woman get you 
regularly into her hands. It would be as good as a play.” 

“ I should rather like to see the woman who could” 
answered his friend, letting down the carriage window, and 
“looking over the side,” as he called it, to know how fast 
they were travelling. “Eleven miles an hour — good. 
These horses trot well. To be sure, they are going 
home. By the way, Horace, what sort of a cook has old 
Dennison got? I dined with him once in London, and 
there was nothing fit to eat. As it was years ago, however, I 
trust the performer of that era has left the kitchen for a 
cooler sphere.” 

“ Oh ! I should think he’d give you as good a dinner as 
anybody else,” replied Horace. “The shooting’s capital, 


WINDOW UP OB DOWN 


43 


I fancy ; and there’s a pleasant party staying in the house. 
Not too many, you know ; and some nice girls. I do like 
a country-house, don’t you ? ” 

“ It is too dark to see your face, my dear fellow,” 
replied the other gravely, “ so I may be excused for asking 
if you are in earnest. Do I like being jammed into the 
society of a herd of people with whom I have nothing in 
common, whether I will or no, as one is on board ship, only 
without the change and excitement of a sea-voyage ? Do I 
like to come down early to breakfast, and spoil the whole 
comfort of that meal by eating it in public, like an old king 
of France ; to be hurried off through wet plantations to a 
stable, or a kennel, or even a conservatory, if I want to 
smoke ; to he turned out of my bedroom when I retire to 
write my letters, by the flopping of housemaids, whose 
presence in every sense pervades the house at all periods of 
the day ; to find the drawing-room resounding with music, 
the gallery garrisoned by young ladies, and the hall, where 
there is a spare blotting-book, given up to battledore-and- 
shuttlecock ? Do I like servants waiting at luncheon, cold 
drives in the afternoon, an enormous tea at six o’clock to 
spoil one’s dinner at eight; the whole concluded by an 
evening of had singing and worse whist? No, I do not 
like it, and I can’t understand how anybody does.” 

“ Then why do you go ? ” asked the other. 

“ Because I don’t hate it half so much as I think,” 
replied Percy. “It so often turns out better than one 
expects. Tell us, have you any idea what sort of people we 
shall find at this place ? We can’t be far off now.” 

“A house full,” answered the other. “ There’s Foster, 
I know.” 

“ The Master of the Hounds, isn’t he ? ” asked Percy. 
“ I conceive the sort of man exactly : middle-aged, bald, 
close-shaved, red-faced, and very short in his answers. 
Sure to sit next one at dinner. I shall ask him if he has 
had nice hunting this winter, and after that he will let me 
alone. “ Who else ? ” 

“ His wife,” continued Horace, “ you won’t care much 
about her. A long parson named Lexley — rather a good 
fellow ; I was at Rugby with him. Two plungers, named 
respectively Nokes and Stokes ” 


44 


UNCLE JOHN 


“ Stokes ! ” interrupted his friend. “ Anthony Stokes ? 
I haven’t seen him since I dined in his bungalow at Meerut : 
but I heard from him this morning, and his letter was dated 
Plump ton Priors. By the way, he was very full of a young 
lady staying there — a Miss Dennison — spoke of her as an 
out-and-outer ! Shall we find her , I wonder ? ” 

“ I was coming to that,” said Horace. “ I had a letter 
from Lexley, and he was full of her too. He writes as if 
he was spoony already ; but then I think parsons are very 
easily knocked over.” 

“ They’re not bad judges either,” replied his friend. 
“ They seem to understand the raw material. Haven’t 
you observed, Horace, what nice girls generally marry 
parsons, and how they deteriorate in a year or two as 
parson’s wives ? ” 

“ No, I haven’t,” said Maxwell, who had a pretty cousin 
settled down at a rose-grown rectory in Somersetshire. 
“ Nice girls don’t deteriorate in the country more than in 
London. The fact is a pretty woman once is a pretty 
woman always.” 

“ Ah ! you’ve never seen a Circassian thirty years old ! ” 
answered the traveller. “I can tell you, my boy, she’s a 
caution to snakes ! I say, we must be in the approach 
now. It’s infernally dark, and the moon has gone in again. 
I suppose this fellow knows the way to his own door.” 

But Horace had let the window down and was peering 
eagerly into the night. Presently he drew in his head. 

“ I declare I believe it’s going to thaw ! ” said he, in a 
tone of solemnity suitable to the occasion. “ It’s pitch 
dark ; the air is much softer, and I fancied just now I felt 
something like a drop of rain.” 

“I hope not,” replied Mortimer with a shudder, con- 
juring up a vision of wet mornings in a country-house, to bo 
whiled away with indoor games, general conversation, and 
other pastimes to which he professed a steady aversion. 
“ I hope not indeed ; and yet you seem to like the idea.” 

“ Why, don’t you see,” argued Maxwell, “if it thaws 
we shall have hunting.” 

“ What’s the use of that ? You haven’t sent any horses 
here, no more have I.” 

“ Oh ! Dennison would mount us, I am sure. He is a 


WINDOW UP OR DOWN 


45 


capital fellow, and can ride pretty straight still, they tell 
me, if everything goes right ; but he seldom comes out now, 
and keeps two or three hunters, chiefly for his friends. I 
believe it’s a charming country, nearly all grass. Doesn’t 
that tempt you ? ” 

“ Not on a strange horse, badly broke, badly bridled, 
disagreeably fresh, and if one does drop into a run, not fit to 
go. No, my dear fellow; I hunt for pleasure ; and upon my 
word, when I think of all one goes through, with catching 
weather, long distances, bad sport, lame horses, and 
funking like blazes, there is very little pleasure about it, 
and one would be much happier sitting at home by the 
fire.” 

“So even hunting is not good enough? I never saw 
such a fellow as you, Percy. Is there anything you do 
like.” 

I like everything , my boy ; only I’m not an enthusiast ; 
that’s to say, one thing does not bore me more than another. 
Perhaps, after all, the material pleasures of life, the real 
tangible comforts, are the most enjoyable. I pity a poor 
devil breaking stones on the road, less for the hard work 
than the hard fare. It must be so wretched to go home and 
sit down to a bad dinner in the same clothes — no wash, no 
slippers, no dressing-room fire. What we all delight in is 
warmth, ease and repose, a good cook, and a good appetite; 
good wine, plenty of light, pleasant company, and a com- 
fortable house after a cold journey. Here we are.” 


CHAPTER IY 


CHAMPAGNE — SWEET OR DRY ? 

Nothing could induce Percy Mortimer to hurry himself. 
His dinner toilet would have been none the less elaborate 
had he known twenty people were waiting for him to begin 
their meal. Half an hour’s law, however, was accorded, in 
consideration of the late arrivals ; so he emerged from his 
room, very sleek and well dressed, to descend the wide 
staircase, with a few seconds’ start of his friend, conscious 
that he had plenty of time. Following close on his steps 
Maxwell reached the landing as Mortimer crossed the hall, 
and looking down from that point of vantage was no less 
delighted than surprised to see his companion of the 
railway, statelier and handsomer than ever in her dinner 
dress, stop short on her way to the drawing-room, and 
accost the traveller with considerable cordiality. 

“ Good Heavens ! Mrs. Delaney ! ” said Percy, as they 
shook hands. “ Who would have thought of finding you 
here? ” 

“ Hush ! Mr. Mortimer,” she replied ; “ not Mrs. 
Delaney in this house. Perhaps — perhaps — you had 
better not seem to know me at all.” And with a scared 
look at Maxwell, as if aware that he had overheard her, 
she turned very pale, and passed on. Imperturbable Percy 
followed into the drawing-room without moving a muscle 
of his countenance, but Maxwell made rather a preoccupied 
bow to his hostess, and took refuge in the general depres- 
sion that overhangs an assemblage of people waiting for 
dinner, to recover his wits a little, and get the better of 
his surprise. 

The important meal being announced almost imme- 

46 


CHAMPAGNE— SWEET OB DRY? 


47 


diately, and Aunt Emily marshalling her guests with the 
skill of a practised tactician, he was roused from his 
meditations by w r ord of command. 

“ Mr. Maxwell, please to take Miss Blair.” 

Looking in vain for that lady, he was completely mysti- 
fied to find his fellow-traveller waiting to place her hand 
within his arm. “ How can she be Miss Blair if she’s 
Mrs. Delaney ? ” thought Horace. “ He said ‘ Mrs. 
Delaney,’ I could take my oath. What does it all 
mean ? ” 

Like a wise man he pulled himself together, and deter- 
mined to await the lady’s explanation, or to have none at 
all. She certainly was very handsome, seen en profile, as 
she arranged herself at the dinner-table ; very classical, 
and well-dressed. He stole a look at her left hand, but 
could not make out if she wore a wedding-ring ; yet his 
friend called her “ Mrs. Delaney,” not “ Miss,” he was sure. 

The soup passed off without a word, hut before they 
brought him lobster sauce for his turbot she turned round, 
and in a low voice observed : 

“ I told you it was only the mountains that never came 
together. I had not an idea then that we were to meet 
this evening. I don’t think I half thanked you for your 
kindness when I got out of the train. Thank you, now. 
I’d stand up and make a curtsey if we were not at dinner. 
But I mean it; you were most attentive and polite.” 

“You must have thought me a great bore when I forced 
my way into your carriage,” said he, beginning to feel that 
he had taken a liberty. “ But the train was full — the 
guard hustled me in at the last moment, and there was 
nothing for it hut to intrude on you or be left behind.” 

“I am glad you were not left behind,” she answered, 
“particularly on my account, and I am sure you did every- 
thing in your power to find another place. I never saw so 
scared a face as yours when you passed along the train on 
your way from the book-stall. I felt quite sorry for you — 
ordered helplessly into my carriage, whether you would or 
no.” 

The tone convinced him that she had detected, and was 
not displeased by, his admiration at first sight. It em- 
boldened him to embark on a flirtation without delay. 


48 


UNCLE JOHN 


“ I am very grateful to the guard,” lie said. “ I own I 
did linger at the door of the carriage you w'ere in, with 
some faint hope my luck might land me there for the whole 
journey. I trust you are not displeased at the con- 
fession.” 

Horace had a great idea of “ making running from the 
start,” as he called it. She replied rather coldly : 

“ There is nothing to please or displease me in the 
matter ; hut you behaved very badly to your friend in 
deserting him without a -word of excuse.” 

“Oh, Percy Mortimer don’t mind,” said Horace; “he 
likes nobody’s society so well as his own ; and he’s not far 
wrong, for a pleasanter fellow one seldom comes across. 
But you know him, don’t you? I saw you shake hands 
with him when we came down to dinner.” 

The pale face certainly turned paler, while she answered, 
looking straight before her : 

“Yes — no — that is to say — (give me a little water, 
please) — I’ve met him abroad. He’s been a great traveller, 
you know, and so have I.” 

“ Exactly,” replied Horace carelessly, yet with intention. 
“A travelling acquaintance, like myself; only I wonder you 
didn’t make a deeper impression, for I heard him call you by 
a wrong name.” 

There was no doubt of her paleness now ; even her lips 
were white. But at this juncture an arm clad in broadcloth 
came between them, and a solemn voice, offering “ Cham- 
pagne — sweet or dry? ” afforded a moment’s respite, during 
which she recovered her presence of mind, and prepared for 
a bold stroke. 

“ Mr. Maxwell,” said she, looking him full in the face, 
with her clear grey eyes, “ can you keep a secret ? ” 

“ Every gentleman can,” he answered, in a low earnest 
voice. 

“ Without understanding, or trying, or even wishing, to 
understand it ? ” 

“ Honour is honour. Miss Blair, tell me your secret.” 

While he spoke, one of those ominous silences which 
are apt to fall on a dinner-party at the most inconvenient 
moments, caused everybody to turn an expectant ear for 
her answer. In parliamentary language, Miss Blair was 


CHAMPAGNE — SWEET OB DBY? 


49 


“ in possession of the house,” and few ladies could have 
been less embarrassed by the situation. 

“ I like sweet champagne better than dry,” said she, with 
perfect gravity ; “ it is a humiliating confession, yet I don’t 
feel the least ashamed of it.” 

“Bravo!” exclaimed young Perigord, who had been 
trying both. “ She’s quite right. So do I.” 

The din of conversation began again, louder for its tem- 
porary cessation. She took advantage of it to whisper in 
Maxwell’s ear : 

“ I know I can trust you. I wonder what you think of 
it all ; but you will never allude to this again ? ” 

“ To your liking for sweet champagne ? ” he answered, 
laughing. “ Certainly not. Trust me all in all, or not at 
all — whichever you please. But there’s a deal of bad wine 
about,” he added, conscious that his voice was again rather 
too audible. “ Lots of stuff they call champagne, that has 
no sort of right to the name.” 

“ What is in a name ? ” said Miss Biair. 

And they felt they understood each other from that 
moment. 

It was a pleasant sensation enough, Maxwell thought to 
have made a treaty of alliance with this handsome and 
mysterious dame. He knew so little of her, and admired 
her so much, not having made out who she was, why she 
came, what position she occupied in society, nor indeed 
anything about her, except that she was very good-looking 
and perfectly well-dressed. Unlike his friend Mortimer, 
Horace dearly loved the easy life of a country-house ; but 
he began to think that this was going to be one of the most 
agreeable visits he had ever paid, and found himself hoping 
the weather would be too bad to permit out-of-door amuse- 
ments, and that he might find an excuse for spending all 
to-morrow in the society of this charming person, whom 
he did not quite like to think of as Mrs. Delaney, yet could 
hardly bring himself to call Miss Blair. 

And she, being a true woman, determined to accept the 
pleasure of the moment without consideration for results. 
She had liked Horace Maxwell’s looks when she saw him 
on the platform of the railway station, and was by no means 
averse to his sharing the solitude of her journey. He im- 

4 


50 


UNCLE JOHN 


proved on acquaintance, and in wishing him good-bye she 
was perfectly sincere while she expressed a hope of meeting 
him again. It was decidedly a pleasant surprise to find 
that they were inmates of the same house, and when she 
was recognised so unexpectedly in his hearing by his friend, 
she felt that to no one would she rather become an object 
of curiosity, and consequently of interest, than to the good- 
looking agreeable young gentleman who sat at dinner by 
her side. 

It was her nature to enjoy the present without troubling 
herself about the future, and the course of her life from girl- 
hood had taught her to bask in such gleams of sunshine 
as she could catch, undismayed by the clouds that were 
lowering in the future, undefeated by the storms that had 
devastated the past. 

“ I can take care of myself,” she thought, “or my 
training has been indeed worse than useless, and I need 
not be afraid of burning my own fingers at a game I have 
resolved never to play in earnest again. I suppose he can’t 
stay less than three days, and it will give one quite an 
interest in life to see how much may be done in so short 
a time. I shall make him like me just enough to feel that 
he has never before had so delightful a visit, and to be quite 
low and uncomfortable for a week after he goes away ; not 
more. He is very nice, and it would he a shame to make 
him unhappy, though he couldn’t complain, for I believe 
men never have mercy upon us. He looks as if he 
would care too, when one gets through the outer crusts of 
worldliness they all think it necessary to affect — as if it 
were a merit to possess no sympathies, no opinions, no 
feelings, and no brains. Men with eyes like his always 
have some romance in them, if one can only get at it, and 
a man’s romance is more utterly idiotic, I do think, than 
a woman’s ! I have made a good beginning. I don’t 
remember ever doing so much in so few hours ; but to- 
morrow morning, when we come down to breakfast, will he 
the test. I have seen them in the most degraded state of 
slavery, when they handed one’s candle at bed-time, and 
free as air, with an excellent appetite, next morning. I 
fancy they exchange horrid sentiments in the smoking- 
room, and reflect on them while they shave. I do not 


CHAMPAGNE— SWEET OR DRY? 


51 


think, though, I shall be silly enough to let him escape like 
that. Three whole days ! Yes, in three days I ought to 
bring him thoroughly and scientifically into bondage. I 
know I could if I had him all to myself ; but just at the 
first stage anything like interference is apt to spoil the 
whole thing. Let me see ; who is there here that I need 
be afraid of? Nobody but Miss Dennison; the others 
are all old women or guys. But she might be dangerous 
with all that beautiful hair, and the half shy manner men 
find so captivating, admiring it as they do a smart dress, 
without troubling themselves to know how it is made and 
put on. Well, she’s got her hands full now, at any rate. 
I never saw Percy Mortimer so taken before.” 

During these meditations dinner proceeded solemnly 
through its appointed routine, on the different courses of 
which Mortimer experimentalised coolly and perseveringly 
to the end. The great business of eating, however, did not 
prevent his appreciating the good looks and good humour 
of his neighbour Annie Dennison, whose refined beauty, 
freshened up by country air, was exactly to the taste of 
a man who had studied and compared the personal 
advantages of women in every climate under the sun. 
She too could not but enjoy the conversation of one 
of the best-informed and pleasantest talkers in London, 
so they soon struck up an alliance, cemented by the playful 
manner in which she identified for him the different guests, 
with most of whom he was unacquainted. 

“You are always amusing, Miss Dennison,” said he, 
“ and never ill-natured. I feel as if I had known and 
respected everybody here from boyhood. Even Mrs. — 
what did you say her name was ? — the lady with a head 
like a haystack, and a double chin — no, I beg your pardon, 
a double chin doubled over again.” 

“ I have already told you,” answered Annie, laughing in 
spite of herself; “but if you choose to make personal 
remarks I shall leave you to your ignorance, and devote 
myself to an admirer I have been neglecting sadly on my 
other side.” 

“ So you ought,” said the Etonian, who occupied that 
position. “ You’ve hardly spoken three words to me since 
I sat down. You’ll be sorry for it to-morrow, when I’m gone.” 


52 


UNCLE JOHN 


“I’m sorry for it now,” replied Miss Dennison; “but 
it’s too late for reparation. When Aunt Emily begins 
putting her gloves on, it means we’re all to take flight. 
There — I told you so — run and open the door, that’s a 
good boy ! ” 

The young gentleman having performed this office with 
creditable self-possession, returned to seat himself by Percy, 
and filling his glass with claret, observed, after a deep sigh, 
“ Oh, dear ! I wish I was grown up. Wouldn’t I just like 
to be you, Mr. Mortimer, and not going away to-morrow. 
It seems so jolly to be a man ! ” 

With that the young reprobate winked solemnly, and 
passed the decanters, recommending his neighbour to make 
the best use of his time, for they had dined half an hour 
later than usual, and the butler would bring coffee at a 
quarter to ten — “ The only thing,” he whispered, “ that I 
should like to see altered in this house.” 

“How do you manage at Eton?” asked Percy, much 
delighted with his new friend. “In my time there was no 
claret, and if I remember right, very little coffee.” 

“Were you at Eton? ” exclaimed the boy. “ Tell us, 
wasn’t it much jollier then than it is now? Only they 
swished a good deal more, didn’t they ? I’m not so sure I 
should have liked that .” 

“ It was very good fun,” answered Percy, who entertained 
no great belief in the delights of boyhood, but had a vivid 
recollection of birch and block. “ Still, I don’t think I 
should like to do it all over again.” 

“ That just what I say,” continued the lad, his eyes 
sparkling, his tongue loosened, the bloom and brightness of 
his youth freshened, like May flowers after rain, by Mr. 
Dennison’s good wine. “Now my governor’s always 
preaching to me about this being the happiest time of 
my life — that I’ve no cares, no troubles, only a few lessons 
to do, and nothing else to think of but enjoying myself. 
I don’t know ; it seems to me when you’re grown up there 
are six whole holidays every week, no chapel, no absence 
called, and no lock-up at night.” 

“ Don’t you think a life of whole holidays would get very 
wearisome at last? ” said Lexley. “ All play and no work 
would make Jack a duller boy than the reverse. Don’t 


CHAMPAGNE— SWEET OB DRY? 


53 


you find the days a little too long sometimes, even 
now ? ” 

“No, I don’t,” answered Perigord. “Not when there’s 
lots of cricket. I say, I saw you play once at Lord’s. Do 
you remember what a good score you made off Twister’s 
bowling ? I wish you would take pupils ; I’d ask my 
governor to let me come to you directly I leave Eton — I 
know he means to take me away the end of next half.” 

Having thus delivered himself, the young gentleman 
coloured violently, edged his chair nearer the clergyman, 
and stammered : 

“I say, I beg your pardon, I didn’t mean to take a 
liberty — only if I could do what I liked, I would rather 
read with you than any fellow I ever saw.” 

“ He’s a gentleman,” thought Percy, “ this noisy young 
scamp ; ” and wishing to cover the hoy’s embarrassment, 
warmly encouraged the idea. 

“ You might do worse, Mr. Lexley,” said he. “ It 
would be a capital thing for Mr. Perigord, and a pleasant 
fellow to keep you company in that lonely parsonage 
would be the greatest blessing on earth. I advise you to 
consider it.” 

“ I shouldn’t mind,” replied the clergyman laughing, “ if 
Perigord ever thinks of it again — which is doubtful.” 

“ I’ll ask the governor directly I get home,” exclaimed 
the boy, delighted to find his suggestion taken in good 
part. “ Won’t it be jolly ? We’ll make a cricket-ground, 
get up an eleven, and play the county. I told you so — 
here comes old Dot-and-go-one with the coffee. Half a 
glass of sherry, please ; I always allow myself a ‘ white- 
wash ’ ; thanks. I feel better now, and almost equal to 
joining the ladies.” 

So he followed the gentlemen across the hall in the 
highest spirits, no whit diminished by a little interview 
with Uncle John, who brought up the rear, when a warm 
shake of the hand and something like the chink of gold 
passed between the host and his boyish guest. 

Though strictly “private and confidential,” this delicate 
transaction was detected by Mr. Foster, who lingered in 
his official capacity to consult a barometer that stood near 
the door. 


54 


UNCLE JOHN 


“ Fallen more than a quarter of an inch,” said he, in his 
short dry tones; “ thought it would change when I drove 
back from the kennels. If the wind gets up it will do. 

“ Do you think we shall be obliged to hunt ? asked 
Uncle John, considering how many people he would have 
to mount, and wondering if the stud-groom had gone to 
bed. 

“ No frost in the ground,” answered Mr. Foster ; “two 
hours’ rain would take all the snow away, particularly in 
that Middleton country. If it’s a good thaw we might hunt 
at twelve o’clock. Glad I sent out the appointments for 
this week at any rate. Plumpton Bridge is only two miles 
from here. The ladies won’t have to make an early start.” 

“You’ll draw Plumpton Osiers, of course? ” said Uncle 
John. “ It’s a certainty for a run.” 

“There was a good fox there last time,” answered Mr. 
Foster, following the other gentlemen into the drawing- 
room. 

His entrance caused all the party to move from their 
seats as if they had been playing Puss-in-the-Corner, up- 
setting thereby one or two pleasant arrangements for 
prolonged tete-a-tetes. 

“It’s a thaw, Mr. Foster! ” exclaimed Miss Dennison, 
making him a profound curtsey in the middle of the room. 
“No more skating for us , — no more grumbling for you. I 
can hear the old ash at the window moaning and creaking 
as if he had the rheumatism in all his branches ; and Aunt 
Emily’s maid, who has been down to the village, came back 
half an hour ago wet through and through. What is it 
doing now, John? ” she asked of a footman who appeared 
with tea. 

“Raining ’ard, Miss,” replied John, inwardly rejoicing 
that his duties rendered him profoundly indifferent to 
weather. 

So one lady after another fired her little volley at Mr. 
Foster, even Miss Blair expressing satisfaction and wish- 
ing him good sport. Only his wife and Aunt Emily 
remained unmoved. Mrs. Foster’s rest had been broken 
on many a cold winter’s night by her husband’s anxiety 
about the weather, and Aunt Emily scorned every kind of 
amusement as being more or less a waste of time. 


CHAMPAGNE— SWEET OR DRY? 


55 


On John’s reappearance to collect empty tea-cups, his 
master created a strong sensation by bidding him “ let Mr. 
Surcingle know he was not to send any horses out to- 
morrow morning till he had been to the house for orders.” 
And when Foster demanded emphatically “ if it was quite 
certain the country would be stopped? ” everybody felt that 
the great business of winter life was about to begin again. 

“I suppose we all mean to hunt?” said the host, 
after a pause of consideration. “ Annie, you can ride 
Sweep ; I don’t want you to come to grief, and no power on 
earth would induce Sweep to attempt a fence he wasn’t sure 
of getting over.” 

“ Thank you, Uncle John,” replied Annie. 

“ Miss Blair,” continued Dennison, “ what would you 
like to do ? There will he two carriages and plenty of 
room. Will you go on wheels?” 

“ If you please,” answered Miss Blair. “ I dare say 
Mrs. Dennison will be going too.” 

Mrs. Foster, yourself, Emily, and one of the gentlemen, 
would fill the waggonette. Lexley, will you take care of 
them ? ” 

Mr. Lexley would he delighted. He was “not a 
hunting parson,” he said, and already had begun to debate 
in his own mind whether Miss Blair in the carriage would 
not prove as attractive a companion as Annie Dennison on 
horseback. 

“ The barouche can take four more,” continued Uncle 
John. And now for the hard riders. Have you two 
soldiers made any arrangements for going into action so 
suddenly ? ” 

Stokes had left orders with his groom to bring on a horse 
if the hounds came ; and Nokes’s servant would do what- 
ever Stokes’s servant did. 

“ I can manage the rest well enough,” said Mr. Dennison, 
“Mortimer, you shall ride Tiptop. He’s nearly as old as 
I am ; but a better hunter never went into the field. Bold, 
temperate, fast and very confidential.” 

Percy Mortimer expressed great unwillingness to trespass 
on his host’s kindness ; he had no regular hunting things, 
he was always afraid of hurting another man’s horse, he 
didn’t know his way about, he wasn’t used to the country, 


56 


UNCLE JOHN 


etc.; but all such excuses were overruled by Uncle John 
and scouted by his niece. 

“ If you don’t want to ride,” said Annie, looking very 
mischievous and pretty, “ I mean really to ride, you can 
come through the gates and take care of me.” 

Percy Mortimer had seen many a good run in his life. 
He thought it would be no great hardship to lose one 
while engaged in so congenial an occupation. 

“ There’s only Maxwell unprovided for,” observed the 
host, turning to that gentleman. I could manage for you 
too,” he added thoughtfully, “ if you don’t dislike riding a 
young horse.” 

“You’re not going to mount him on Barmecide?” 
exclaimed Aunt Emily. “ The brute ran away with one 
of the grooms the very last day he was out.” 

Nobody but Foster detected the shadow of anxiety that 
crossed Miss Blair’s face ; but the M. F. H. was a man 
who saw everything and said nothing. 

“ Barmecide will make a very good hunter,” answered 
the owner. “He’s a little eager and troublesome when 
hounds are not running, but if you don’t mind that, 
Maxwell, and his having rather a light mouth, he will carry 
you in a run as well as anything I’ve got.” 

Horace, who was a good horseman, expressed his 
gratitude, and already imagined himself sailing away over 
the wide pastures of Plumpton Lordship and Middleton 
Lacy. 

“ Then there’s nothing left for you, Uncle John,” ex- 
postulated Annie, who always took him under her own 
especial care. “Boniface is lame, and the Weazel is 
much too small for a hunter.” 

“ The Weazel will do perfectly well, Annie,” answered 
her uncle. “ I don’t think I shall even go to see you find, 
for I must attend a magistrates’ meeting in Middleton at 
one, so you shall tell me all about it when you come home. 
Only mind, I won’t have you ride too straight, even on 
Sweep.” 

Many and loud were the protestations of Mortimer and 
Maxwell as to taking Mr. Dennison’s horses, dismounting 
him, and so forth, all of which he cut short with more good 
nature than sincerity. 


CHAMPAGNE— SWEET OB DBY? 


57 


“I couldn’t hunt if I would,” said he, “ and I wouldn’t 
if I could. I tire before my horse now. I am afraid of 
getting wet, and I daren’t ride over a water furrow if I’m 
cold. The fireside is the best place for old gentlemen in 
bad weather. I wish I wasn’t obliged to go to this meeting 
to-morrow, but there is no help for it.” 

“You always make yourself out so much older than you 
are ! ” cried Miss Annie. “ I believe it’s laziness. The 
very last time the hounds met here, who was it jumped 
the Plumpton Brook before all the young men ? Mr. Foster 
told me ; didn’t you, Mr. Foster ? ” 

“ He ought to have known better,” said the M. F. H. 

“ I was on Tiptoe,” replied Uncle John, trying not to 
look pleased. “ Foster’s quite right ; there’s no fool like an 
old one ; but I couldn’t bear to disappoint the horse. If 
you come to water, Mortimer, you may ride at it with 
perfect confidence. Directly he sees the willows he makes 
up his mind. Now let’s have some music.” 

So the rector’s daughters sang their duet pretty well, 
Maxwell talking to Miss Dennison in an audible whisper all 
the time, and then Nokes, coming out in a new light, and 
urged by the entreaties of his comrade, gave them an ex- 
cellent comic song, the effect of which was much enhanced 
by his gravity during its delivery. In the lull that succeeded 
there arose a call for Annie, but that young lady strenuously 
refused to leave her seat. 

“ Everything’s flat after a good comic song,” said she, 
“ and you’d all begin to laugh again if I were to sit down 
and croak out one of my melancholy ditties. Mr. Maxwell, 
if you’re not afraid, I’ll fight you at bezique.” 

4 4 What business has she to take possession of him like 
that ? ” thought Miss Blair, who was no great card-player, 
and had already made an almost imperceptible motion of 
her skirt, which he might have interpreted as a permission 
to sit on the ottoman by her side. “ I wonder if she’s very 
innocent or very artful. I believe she’s a flirt. As if Mr. 
Maxwell wasn’t enough, there’s Mr. Mortimer looking over 
her hand, advising her. Oh ! I dare say. Much advice 
you require, you rapacious little wretch ! — and if I chose — 
if I only chose — I could sail down upon you, and cut you 
out with both in less than five minutes. I’ve a great mind 


58 


UNCLE JOHN 


to try, only Mrs. Dennison wouldn’t like it ; and after all, 
what’s the use? What’s the use of anything now ? Oh, 
dear! oh, dear ! how I wish I had my time to come over 
again ! ” 

She was no longer in the drawing-room at Plumpton 
Priors ; she was living in the past once more, and looking 
hack on many a varied scene of romance, triumph, excite- 
ment — everything hut real happiness. Sailing on golden 
seas in the moon-lit night of the tropics, riding camels 
through the blazing noon of the desert, holding animated 
converse with a black mask on in foreign ball-rooms — 
listening, as Eve listened to the serpent, while a soft voice 
told the old false tale under the cedars in an island of the 
Greek sea. Now in pleasure and triumph, anon in shame 
and sorrow ; hut up or down, rich or poor, in the flush of 
success or the humiliation of defeat, always draining the 
cup of life to the dregs, and always finding more bitter than 
sweet in the draught. 

And once she had been such a happy, frank-hearted girl. 
Good ? Yes, surely she was good then ; anxious only to 
fulfil her daily task, and pleased with a word of approval 
from those who taught. Could she be the same being that 
once found pleasure in making her doll’s clothes and driving 
a hoop round the garden ? Impossible ! She felt pity for 
herself, as if the life she was looking hack on had been 
another’s and not her own. Aunt Emily’s voice quite 
startled her with its imperious request, “ Laura, will you 
play us something? ” and the harsh tones, less of entreaty 
than command, had to he repeated more than once before 
she woke up sufficiently to obey. 

As she walked to the pianoforte she was herself again, 
and it did not escape her penetration that two gentlemen 
of the party were already sufficiently interested to desist 
from their respective occupations at the mention of her 
Christian name, Horace Maxwell blundered the “ royal 
marriage ” he was entitled to mark, while Lexley deserted 
Mrs. Foster, to whom he was talking by the fire, without 
finishing his sentence, and marched across the room to 
search for music, turn over leaves, and place his services 
generally at the disposal of the performer. 

Play them something ! She determined she would play 


CHAMPAGNE— SWEET OR DRY? 


59 


them something, and that in a style to which they were 
totally unaccustomed. From her earliest childhood she 
had made the pianoforte a confidant and expositor of her 
inmost feelings ; a rare natural talent had been developed 
by unremitting practice and there were few professional 
players who could have rivalled Miss Blair in taste, senti- 
ment, and finish on her favourite instrument. 

So she let her fingers wander over the keys in a slow, 
wild, monotonous movement, that seemed to grow into 
music as the painter’s sketch grows into a picture. There 
were chords — there were variations — there was much bril- 
liancy of execution — but through it all ran a sad sweet 
strain that woke in each listener’s heart the one dear memory 
of a lifetime. Before she had played five minutes cards were 
neglected, voices hushed, and over each attentive face, 
of old and young, men and women, alike, came the gentle 
wistful look of those who recall an unforgotten sorrow, who 
turn once more, resigned, but spirit-broken, to say farewell 
across a grave. 

When the last faint notes, floating, as it were, dreamily 
away, trembled into silence, even Aunt Emily, shading 
her face with a fire-screen, had tears in her eyes, while 
Mrs. Foster, the least impressionable person that could be 
imagined, sobbed outright. 

Perhaps, however, Algernon Lexley, a man of warm 
feelings and vivid imagination, the stronger that it was 
habitually repressed, felt more than the rest how resistless 
were the spells of this enchantress. Three short hours ago, 
making the best of his appearance while dressing, he had 
been quite prepared to fall in love with Annie Dennison, 
but now it began to seem impossible that he should have 
been attracted by any woman on earth except Miss Blair. 
Her pale beauty, her air of high breeding (so often 
independent of high birth), her tasteful dress, above all, 
something half sad, half reckless in the expression of her 
face, as if she were a woman with a history, seemed 
especially captivating to a man of cultivated mind, who 
lived in the retirement of a country parish ; but when she 
sat down to the pianoforte, and drew the heart out of his 
breast with such music as she alone could make, it was all 
over ! Lexley did not even feel ashamed to admit that he 


60 


UNCLE JOHN 


who had been a free man at a quarter before eleven p.m., 
was seriously, irrevocably, madly in love with a lady of 
whom he knew literally nothing, at a quarter past. 

A silence, more flattering than the loudest applause, 
succeeded her performance, broken at length by Percy 
Mortimer’s ill-advised “ Encore ! ” 

Looking up, she caught Lexley’s eyes fixed on her with 
an expression there was no mistaking, though he averted 
them in confusion, and exclaimed almost rudely, “ No, no ! 
Let us go to bed and dream, with that beautiful air ringing 
in our ears ! ” 

“ Thank you, Mr. Lexley,” said she. “ Do you know, 
that is the prettiest compliment ever paid to my music yet ? ” 

He blushed — actually blushed — like a hoy, and turned 
away without answering, while the rest of the party 
expressed their admiration in the usual terms ; young 
Perigord adding, “ that he should like very much to hear 
Nokes sing his song over again.” 

In less than half an hour a hush of rest pervaded the 
length and breadth of Plumpton Priors. Gentle snores 
might indeed he heard in pantry and attics, but with the 
exception of one other apartment, profound silence, only 
broken by the pattering of rain on roof and skylight, 
reigned in bed-chambers, galleries, and corridors, through 
the whole building.” 

This apartment, too, was occupied less noisily than usual. 
In spite of a blazing fire, sporting prints, an array of soda- 
water bottles, a square spirit case, and such easy-chairs 
and ample sofas as denoted the smoking-room, it contained 
but two inmates, Mortimer and Maxwell ; the traveller 
arrayed in gorgeous costume, like an Eastern prince, his 
friend clad in a tattered suit of grey that seemed to have 
done good service in the Highlands of Scotland. Each 
gentleman with six inches of tobacco in his mouth, looked 
very comfortable, and disposed to hold his tongue. 
Mortimer was the first to speak. 

“How it rains!” said he. “ Listen, Horace ! What 
an ‘ ender ’ you’ll get to-morrow with the young one, about 
the third fence ! ” 

“ That’s a pleasant remark,” answered the other, “ and 
encouraging to a friend. I begin to wish he had offered me 


CHAMPAGNE— SWEET OB DBY? 


61 


Tiptop, only I suppose nothing would induce you to get on 
a five-year-old? ” 

“ Nothing,” said Percy, conclusively. 

“ Then it’s better as it is. Well, I shouldn’t wonder if 
we do have a gallop. One generally drops into sport after 
a frost ; and it’s a rare good country. I say, Percy, that’s 
a charming woman we came down with in the train.” 

“ We ! You mean you. I had nothing to do with it. 
I never was more surprised in my life than when I found 
her here.” 

Each gentleman puffed out a volume of smoke, and 
looked in the other’s face. Horace would have given a 
great deal to ask his friend a single question ; Percy had 
every inclination personally to satisfy the other’s curiosity, 
but both felt that between them there was a woman’s secret, 
and respected it accordingly. 

“Have some soda-water ! ” asked Maxwell, after a pause, 
pouring a little brandy into a glass the size of a stable-pail. 
“ I tell you I don’t think I ever heard such a player before. 
I wouldn’t have believed a pianoforte could he made to do 
so much.” 

“ How its legs will fill to-morrow,” said Percy ; “ like 
Barmecide’s when you’ve had your fun out of him in this 
deep ground. I thought you hated music, Horace ! ” 

“Not such music as that,” answered Maxwell indignantly. 

“ It was enough to make a fellow cry. Lexley did. At 
least, I saw him take out his handkerchief.” 

“He seems rather a good fellow, that long parson, 
though he is a friend of yours,” yawned Mortimer. “ I 
shall be off to bed when I’ve finished this cigar.” 

“ I wonder if she’s going to stay,” continued the other, 
still harping on the musician. “ I should like to hear her 
play again.” 

“ She’ll stay longer than you do,” replied his friend ; 
“ and play whenever she is asked. I fancy she is a sort of 
companion to Mrs. Dennison. The niece told me all about 
it in the drawing-room, only she said they made a secret of 
the whole thing.” 

“ Women always make secrets,” observed Maxwell, 
lighting his candle. 

“ And always let them out,” said Mortimer. “ Good- 
night.” 


CHAPTER Y 


PLUMPTON OSIERS 

For any purpose but hunting, a less promising morning has 
seldom dawned than that which met Mr. Foster’s eyes as 
he opened his dressing-room window and looked out. The 
storm had lulled indeed, hut a steady warm rain fell per- 
sistently, and already there were few patches of snow to 
he seen, even in the most sheltered corners of the park. 

“ Hounds might run to-day,” thought the M. F. H. while 
he shaved. “And if there’s anything like a scent in that 
country, a run from the Osiers means about the best thing 
of the season. We’re sure to find ; no doubt of that, I 
think. Hang it ! I hope Potter will get his hounds away 
together. What a mess he made of it last time ! ” Then 
he cut himself and went to his wife’s room for sticking- 
plaster. While he adjusted a patch, what a number of 
things he thought of, and how many were calculated to mar 
his anticipations of enjoyment ! Where were they likely to 
leave off? And how should he arrange for his second 
draw ? If the fox made his point for Stockwell Lings, the 
line would be straight across Screwman’s farm, and next 
day’s post was safe to bring him a complaint for damage 
done to young wheat ; whereas if he faced the Yale, with 
the hope of reaching Marston main earths, the hounds 
would run right through the park at Lower Plumpton, a 
district literally alive with hares, and there would be six 
couple of puppies out whom he could trust only where they 
had no temptation to riot. Then Jim, the second whip, a 
very useful lad, was inclined to be delicate, so a thorough 
wetting would do him no good ; while it was Whitethorn’s 
turn to carry Potter, and like many others, he was not 


PLUMPTON 0 STEPS 


63 


quite a good horse in deep ground. Forty minutes on a 
day like this would he sure to see him out. Altogether, by 
the time the M. F. H. got down to breakfast he had created 
a whole catalogue of failures and contingencies, any one of 
which would be sufficient to spoil his day’s amusement. 

A man need be very fond of hunting to undertake the 
management of a country, even under the most favourable 
circumstances. Mr. Foster was devoted, heart and soul, to 
the chase. No doubt he had his reward. 

Coming down to breakfast, he became, of course, the 
object of attention to all. Annie sugared and creamed his 
tea, with the utmost nicety ; Miss Blair handed him an 
egg ; the butler cut for him the thinnest slices of ham and 
brought the hottest kidney ; while Uncle John, munching 
dry toast, reiterated his conviction that Plumpton Osiers 
would prove a sure find and afford the moral certainty of 
a run. ^ 

Breakfast was a cheerful meal at the Priors, perhaps 
none the less so that Aunt Emily made a practice of 
appearing late, although, on occasions like the present, 
when she came down in her bonnet, she was apt to make 
up for lost time by unusual abruptness of manner and 
brevity of reply. 

Annie Dennison in her aunt’s absence, sat at one end of 
the table to make tea. She was very pretty in a riding- 
habit, with her abundant hair coiled into a silky crown 
over her brows. Percy on one side, and Miss Blair on the 
other, observed, with different feelings, how pleasant and 
bright and fresh she looked. 

“No red coat, Mr. Mortimer?” exclaimed Annie, as 
that gentleman stretched an arm, clad in convict’s grey, to 
reach the toast. “What an insult to Tiptop! I hope 
you have not dressed yourself so badly because you are 
going to ride with me ? ” 

“ The very privilege that makes me regret I didn’t bring 
hunting things,” answered Mortimer. “ My get-up is even 
worse, I fear, below the waist. Something between a Low 
Church bishop and a man going to buy pigs. Don’t ask 
me to bring you anything from the side-table, Miss 
Dennison.” 

While he spoke Lexley made his appearance, and finding 


64 


UNCLE JOHN 


his usual seat occupied looked wistfully towards an empty 
place by Miss Blair. His heart failed him, however, and 
he took a chair opposite with an embarrassment of manner 
that did not escape so shrewd an observer. Even while she 
wondered what made Mr. Maxwell late, she began to suspect 
that there was another captive of her how and spear. 

“ I hope you slept well and had pleasant dreams, Mr. 
Lexley,” said Annie, who had no idea of resigning any of 
her regular admirers. “ Five minutes ago I could have 
given you a much stronger cup of tea.” 

“ I never dream,” answered the clergyman ; then catch- 
ing Miss Blair’s eye, coloured, made an awkward how, 
looked foolish, and spilt his tea ; while that lady, w r ho read 
him like a hook, preserved an appearance of complete un- 
consciousness, as only a woman can. 

“ I dreamt of Miss Blair’s music,” said the untruthful 
Mortimer, who slept like a top, and was little given to 
visions of fancy by night or day. “ As for Horace, I have 
no doubt he is dreaming still. You had better send up to 
him, Mr. Dennison. If he gets the chance, he is quite 
capable of remaining in bed till the end of the w r eek. 
Every fellow, you know, has his own particular gifts.” 

“ There is plenty of time,” answered Uncle John, 
looking at his watch. “ Nobody need start for half an 
hour yet. And I do believe it is going to clear.” 

Liberal and encouraging as was the announcement, it 
caused a general break up. Annie had to adjust her 
riding-hat, Miss Blair to put on “ her things.” Mortimer 
liked to smoke a cigarette before starting, and Lexley went 
to search the hall for his great coat. Even Mrs. Foster 
had finished breakfast when Horace Maxwell came down, 
so he drank his tea tete-a-tete with Aunt Emily, and after- 
wards confided to his friend that “ he had a roughisli time 
of it, and would take care not to he late again.” 

Nevertheless, before the party could get under weigh, 
there was little time to spare. Mr. Foster, on his hack, 
had been gone half an hour ; though he would wait for 
them, of course, it was the one thing of all others that 
destroyed his equanimity for the day, so the carriages were 
started with as little delay as possible, and Lexley found 
himself, to his unspeakable happiness, packed into the 


PLUMP TON OSIERS 


65 


waggonette opposite Miss Blair. Their host was a good 
weather prophet, and he had not even the drawback of 
holding an umbrella to keep off the rain. Annie Dennison 
and Mortimer jogged on together : Sweep rather fidgety 
and troublesome ; Tiptop in unruffled composure, as scorn- 
ing to waste his energies till required for real business. 
The young lady looked back more than once. Mr. Maxwell, 
she was afraid, would never find the bridle way across the 
meadows by himself. She hoped the young horse would 
carry him safely ; he did not always behave as well as he 
ought. 

But Barmecide and his rider were occupied in making 
each other’s acquaintance, and this is the way an intimacy 
was brought about. 

Maxwell, crossing the hall to the stables, peeped into 
the den where Uncle John wrote his letters, to apologise 
for having no hunting things — “ not even a pair of spurs ! ” 
and he glanced down at his drab breeches and black boots ; 
“ though perhaps that is all the better — they only tear a 
horse to pieces if he falls.” 

So congenial a sentiment sank gratefully in the ears of 
Uncle John, who loved a hunter as his own child, and could 
forgive the animal anything if it had but courage. 

“ Barmecide don’t require spurs,” said he. “ Quite the 
reverse ; as I told you last night, he wants a light hand, 
hut my servants don’t know how to bit him. If I were a 
younger man, I should like him better than anything in the 
stable.” 

“ Can you give me a hint how to ride him ? ” asked 
Horace, with modest deference. 

“ Yes, I can,” answered his good-natured host. “ Send 
him along as if he was your own. Go into every field with 
the hounds. Don’t be afraid — he’s as near thoroughbred 
as possible — he’s quite fit to go, and a hard day will do him 
all the good in the world.” 

With so liberal a margin to his sailing orders, Horace 
stalked into the stahle-yard, and mounted in the utmost 
confidence. 

The helper who brought out Barmecide was the same 
the horse had run away with ten days before. He looked 
up in the rider’s face with a broad grin. 


66 


UNCLE JOHN 


“ Mind as he doesn’t bolt with you, sir,” said he. “ I’ve 
took the curb in as tight as ever it will go ; but he’s a hard- 
mouthed one, he is, and if once he gets his head I don’t 
think as a giant would be able to stop him.” 

“ Thank ye, my lad,” answered Horace, pulling his 
stirrups to the right length, while he sidled out of the 
yard, Barmecide curveting and passaging in as uncomfort- 
able a manner as could well be imagined. 

No sooner was he hidden from sight by an angle of the 
shrubbery than he leapt lightly down, took the curb off 
altogether, and put it in his pocket. While doing so, 
he could not fail to admire the points and beauty of the 
animal he was going to ride. 

“ Fifteen three, and a bit,” thought Maxwell ; “ brown, 
with tan muzzle ; large flat legs ; long muscular shoulders ; 
a back like a prize-fighter’s; a head like a lady’s, and a 
game wild eye that means facing anything at any pace 
while hounds are running. I do hope we shall have some 
fun together to-day ; for I think I never saw a better- 
looking horse in my life ! ” 

Then he jumped quickly into the saddle, and started at 
a canter across the Park. 

Barmecide, expecting the usual torture from a heavy- 
handed stable-boy, plunged, reached at his bridle, shook 
his head violently, and finding his mouth still quite 
comfortable, bent his neck to lay himself out for a gallop 
with a snort of approval and delight. Ere the pair arrived 
at the Lodge they were on the best of terms, and under- 
stood each other perfectly. 

“ You’re a flyer ! ” said Maxwell aloud, as he subsided 
into a trot, and emerged on the turnpike road. 

“ Yes, sir,” answered the old woman who opened the 
gate, never doubting but his observation was addressed to 
herself. 

Half a mile further on, he spied Miss Dennison and her 
companion cantering along a bridle-road, two fields off. 
Without hesitation he turned from the highway to ride 
at a fair hunting fence, which his horse jumped beautifully, 
and clearing a flight of rails out of the next enclosure, 
joined them in a state of considerable satisfaction and self- 
confidence. 


PLUMP TON OSIERS 


67 


“ How nicely he goes with you ! ” said Miss Annie, 
“ and how pleased Uncle John will he ! Look ; you can 
see Plumpton Bridge now, just at the end of the brook. 
The carriages must have got there before us, for I declare 
Mr. Foster is moving off already.” 

The three then put their horses into a canter and made 
for the place of meeting. Barmecide did not go quite so 
pleasantly in company, and Horace, whose fearlessness was 
the result of skill, not ignorance, felt he should like his 
mount better if it would but take example by the calm 
disciplined courage of Tiptop. 

There was no time to lose. Plumpton Osiers, a flat 
square willow-bed, of about four acres, with a dry bank of 
thorns and brushwood overhanging it on the north side, 
was the kind of covert that a good fox leaves at a short 
notice. As it lay only half a mile off Plumpton Bridge, 
there was a chance of its being disturbed by some of the 
foot people who congregate at a favourite meet, and Mr. 
Foster always seemed anxious to get his hounds into it as 
quickly as possible. To draw Plumpton Osiers blank was 
one of the calamities that haunted his dreams. To-day he 
appeared in a greater hurry than usual. The change in 
the weather had been so unexpected, the thaw so sudden, 
that few regular attendants thought of coming. The 
carriages from the Priors, two or three squires who lived 
close at hand, half-a-dozen farmers, a sporting lawyer, and 
a horse-breaker, constituted the whole assemblage, and his 
face relaxed into something like a smile, while he brought 
his horse alongside of his huntsman, amongst the fawning 
looks and waving sterns of their favourites. 

“It’s not such a bad day, after all,” said he, “ since it 
cleared. No sun, no wind (’ware horse, Abigail !), and 
plenty of wet in the ground. A nice little field, too, and 
we won’t wait to see if any more are coming. Move on, 
Potter ; the sooner we get to work the better.” 

So Potter, with a good-looking lot at his horse’s heels, 
trotted off to the covert without delay. 

Thus it fell out that Miss Dennison and her two cavaliers, 
followed by a servant, were still a quarter of a mile from 
the Osiers, when the light note of a young hound, corro- 
borated by the deeper tones of his senior, and by a merry 
chorus from the pack, proclaimed a “ find.” 


68 


UNCLE JOHN 


“ Don’t let us go on ! ” exclaimed Percy, coming to a 
sudden halt. “We shall head him, to a certainty ; but I 
think we can’t do any harm here.” 

“If he goes away at the other end, we shall be done ! ” 
answered Horace, reining in Barmecide, who showed a 
great deal of impatience. 

“Hush!” said the other, in an awe-stricken whisper. 
“Miss Dennison, I beseech you, not a word!” 

Maxwell’s attention was wholly engrossed by his horse ; 
hut Annie, following the direction of Mortimer’s eyes, 
observed the fox travelling straight across the adjoining 
field. 

He was a lengthy, magnificent fellow ; of the richest 
possible brown, with a full white-tipped brush, that made 
him look twice his natural size. If he saw them behind 
the thick hedge through which they watched him it did 
not affect his intentions. He seemed to have made up his 
mind, and to mean going. 

With one glance at Potter’s white horse, conspicuous in 
the distance against the dark back-ground of covert through 
which he scrambled, Percy put his hand to his mouth for 
a view-holloa, but lowered it without yielding to temptation. 
“Better not,” he murmured ; “they’re coming as fast as 
they can. By Jove, what a scent there is ! Hark together, 
my beauties ! There’s the horn ! Here they are ! ” 

The pack were indeed streaming over the grass on the 
line of their fox, with just so much music from those in 
front as assured the rest it was well worth while to get up 
to the leaders. Potter, on Whitethorn, was leaping the 
fence out of the covert. Mr. Foster, followed by the field, 
came splashing along the water-meadows as fast as he 
could gallop. It was a stirring moment ; everything looked 
like a run. Tiptop cocked his ears, and began to tremble. 

For a minute, Mortimer wavered. He glanced at the 
fence in front, at the groom behind, at the young lady by 
his side. 

“ Don’t mind me, ” she said; “I can get on very well 
with Robert. Please don’t stay, if you’d rather not ! ” 

“ One of us ought to take care of you,” answered Percy ; 
and perhaps the glance she directed at his friend, whose 
eyes were riveted on the hounds, may have decided him, 


PLUMP TON 0 SI EPS 


69 


for lie added, “ I promised Mrs. Dennison I would, and if 
it don’t bore you, I will." 

“ This way then,” she exclaimed, shortening her reins ; 

4 ‘through the gate and down by the farm-house. There’s 
a ford in the next field, if they cross the brook. Better 
come with us, Mr. Maxwell,” she added, as Horace set 
Barmecide going, with his head straight for the hounds ; 
“ I know that fence, and it’s a horror ! ” 

It was a horror. High, strong, and hairy ; with an 
uncertainty, proving to be a wide and deep ditch, on the 
far side ; but the young horse seemed more than willing to 
face it, and with hounds running hard in the very next field, 
Horace felt it must be now or never. 

“You are a hunter!” said he, as Barmecide dropped 
his hind legs amongst the growers, and landed lightly like 
a deer, with many a foot to spare. The horse too seemed 
much delighted with his own performance, and content 
with the handling of his rider. 

“Hold hard, sir!” expostulated Potter, from sheer 
instinct and force of habit, pounding up the field a hundred 
yards in his rear, and four times that distance from the 
pack. 

“ Hold hard ! D n it all, hold hard ! ” echoed 

Foster, close at his huntsman’s heels ; adding, in a growl 
to himself, “ It’s that London chap on old Dennison’s 
five-year-old ; I trust the double-fences about Middleton 
Lacy will soon settle him ! ” 

But the double-fences about Middleton Lacy, amongst . 
which they found themselves in less than ten minutes, 
seemed to Barmecide even as a bed of roses, wherein it 
was a pride and pleasure to disport himself. His turn of 
speed had served him admirably, for in spite of its countless 
hares, the hounds ran through Lower Plumpton without 
a turn or check of any description, and the young horse, 
thoroughly enjoying a line of his own, allowed himself to 
be ridden at a walk, trot, or gallop, with perfect calm and 
confidence, according to the requirements of the various 
obstacles he encountered. To use Maxwell’s words, who 
expatiated freely on his merits the same day after dinner, 
“ he was as bold as a lion, as active as a cat, and as wise 
as a sheep-dog.” 


70 


UNCLE JOHN 


Still the hounds kept streaming on ; through Middleton 
Lacy, past the Lodges at Sludgeley, and so across the 
undulating pastures and wild open district that went by 
the imposing title of Middleton Lordship. The grass rode 
sound, the fences were easy and far apart. There was no 
stock in the fields ; there were no boys scaring crows, no 
countrymen spreading manure, no yelping curs joining 
unhidden in the pursuit, and not a covert within five miles. 
It was like hunting in Paradise. 

“He can’t stand long before ’em at this pace,” said the 
M. F. H., coming up with his huntsman as they rode at a 
light easy fence, over which Barmecide had passed without 
touching a twig. “They must pull him down on this side 
of Marston, for I’ll swear Marston’s his point.” 

“ And the main earth open, as likely as not,” answered 
Potter. “ Dear, dear, that would be a bad job ! Hold up, 
horse ! ” 

Whitethorn did hold up, or he would have been on his 
nose in a blind grip. But though he galloped bravely on, 
he had already given his rider more than one hint that he 
would gladly welcome a check, a turn, above all, a second 
horse. 

Belief arrived sooner than might have been expected. 
Another mile brought them to the old Boman Boad. Here 
a tinker, who had unpacked his donkey, lit his fire in a 
dry place, and sat down to dinner, headed the fox. The 
hounds flashed over the scent, checked, made their own 
forward cast, and lost the line. 

Some of the old ones still kept their noses down, and 
puzzled about the tinker’s emcampment, but in vain. 

We trust that fallacy has long since exploded which 
denied to a straight rider the qualities of a good sportsman. 
Horace Maxwell would on no account have jumped into the 
road till the hounds were out of it, and had fairly settled to 
the scent again in the next field. When Potter came up 
he was off his horse, exerting all his powers of observation 
for any hint that might be of any service to the huntsman. 

“ They carried it up to the fence,” said he ; “not a 
yard further. That white hound has never left this field 
at all.” 

“ That’s old Abigail,” observed the master, wondering 


PLUMP TON OSIERS 


71 


what sort of a cast his huntsman would make, inclining to 
think it would be a bad one. 

At this critical moment, to the great disturbance of the 
tinker’s donkey, up came the waggonette — horses, servants, 
inmates, — all in the wildest excitement and splashed to 
the eyes. 

The coachman at Plumpton Priors had, many years 
before, been whipper-in with these very hounds when they 
were kept by old Squire Dennison, now defunct. In- 
capacitated by an accident for the saddle and the kennel, 
he had subsided to the harness-room and the box ; but he 
dearly loved the old game still, and it was his boast, that 
with a pair of galloping horses and a swinging pole, his 
ladies could see a run in any part of his country as well 
from his waggonette as from their own saddles. Especially 
did he pride himself on his knowledge of the line foxes 
were disposed to take from Plumpton Osiers, and he had 
certainly been successful on the present occasion. Even 
Aunt Emily condescended to compliment him on his skill, 
and Mrs. Foster sagely remarked that “John,” meaning 
her husband, “ had much better have come in the carriage, 
for she could make him out two fields behind the hounds ; 
and, indeed, there seemed only one gentleman with them 
at all.” 

“ And that’s Mr. Maxwell, on our young ’orse,” 
explained the coachman, keenly interested ; whereat Miss 
Blair’s eyes brightened, and Lexley thought no woman was 
ever so beautiful in a dream. 

Potter looked about him bewildered. Whitehorn was 
done to a turn. He seemed quite at a loss to guess what 
had become of his fox, and cast his hounds rather helplessly 
over the ground they had already made good. This feeble 
measure prolonged the check and enabled his second horse 
to arrive, not a moment too soon, closely followed by Annie 
Dennison and her cavalier. 

Loud were the shouts that welcomed them from the 
waggonette, and the party were talking at the top of their 
voices, when a little suppressed cry from Miss Blair, who 
turned very white, directed the attention ot all to Maxwell, 
on his face in the Roman Road, with Barmecide lying across 
him. 


72 


UNCLE JOHN 


His downfall had been brought about in this wise. 
Abigail, a discreet and matronly old hound, with a con- 
fidence in her own sagacity but one degree removed from 
the enormity of “ skirting,” had been making independent 
inquiries for herself with a diligence that could not but 
prove successful. Her short sharp notes soon brought the 
rest of the pack to share in her discoveries ; and as they all 
settled once more to the line, Potter was unable to forbear 
a cheer, while he waved his cap to her with a “ Yooi ! At 
him ! Well done, old lady ! I’d trust ye with a man’s 
life ! ” 

Now Maxwell had no prejudice about young horses, his 
practice having taught him that when ridden resolutely up 
to hounds, they were as temperate and sagacious as their 
seniors, with perhaps a turn more courage, the result of 
inexperience ; but he was apt to forget that they should he 
treated as young horses, and not asked to engage in 
complicated transactions at too short notice. 

With Abigail’s first proclamation that her fox, though 
diverted from his line, was still forward and resolved to 
make his point, the dismounted enthusiast, vaulting into 
the saddle, turned short at the blind straggling fence which 
bounded the Roman Road, with a loose rein and a dashing 
carelessness that Tiptop, who was looking on, would 
probably have resented by a refusal, hut poor Barmecide 
accepted with a fall. 

The horse had no time to collect himself before he was 
caught in a wilderness of ragged, tangled branches, that 
pulled him down into the blind, bramble-covered ditch ; 
and though, even at such disadvantage, he made a gallant 
effort to land himself and his rider in the road, it was but to 
flounder through a succession of deep treacherous ruts that 
brought him first on his head and finally on his hack, with 
Maxwell, who sat as close as wax, completely under him. 
A worse rider and a clumsier horse would, in all probability, 
have escaped with an easier fall. 

Happily help was at hand. While the ladies trembled 
and hurst out crying, Mortimer threw himself from the 
saddle, flung his rein to Annie, and rushed in to the rescue 
of his friend. The footman too was off the box and over his 
gaiters in mire with a rapidity that did him infinite credit. 


PLUMPTON OSIERS 


73 


These scenes are all much alike. Muddy up-turned 
girths and stomach ; bright horse-shoes kicking in the air ; 
white breeches flashing round the fallen ; a pale face peer- 
ing from beneath the saddle-flaps, with a strange uncomfort- 
able stare that belies its brave attempt to smile ; horsemen 
standing in their stirrups to give directions, holding the 
bridles of others dismounted, and gathering in to hinder or 
assist ; a rally — a rush — a scatter — and then, scared and 
snorting, a horse rises out of the midst, to give himself a 
frightened shake, while a prostrate rider is dragged from 
the vicinity of his heels, more or less damaged, as the case 
may be. 

“What is it, Mr. Mortimer ?” exclaimed Annie, who 
was crying, as out of the rally aforesaid Percy staggered 
back and would have fallen, hut that he caught by the 
splash-board of the waggonette. 

“Nothing,” answered Percy, grinding his teeth; “the 
brute kicked me getting up, that’s all. I hope Horace isn’t 
as much hurt as we thought.” 

But Horace, with a crushed hat and torn coat, a mass of 
mud from head to foot, was already in the saddle and look- 
ing which way the hounds had gone, having reassured the 
ladies, who were extremely anxious to make room for him 
in the waggonette, by declaring that he was not the least 
injured, rather the contrary. 

“Only the wind knocked out of me, honour bright. 
And it was entirely my own fault. Thank you, Miss Blair; 
but, indeed I am only dirty. I haven’t really got a 
scratch.” 

Then looking hastily round, to throw his friend a 
word of thanks for the prompt assistance that, perhaps, had 
saved his life, he leaped once more to the ground, with an 
exclamation that was almost an oath. 

“Help ! — somebody — everybody ! ” said he catching the 
other in his arms. “ Here’s Mortimer fainting— a thing 
he never did in his life ! ” 

Percy, sick and white, repudiated the accusation, and 
tried to get on his horse. Failing flagrantly, he begged 
everybody to go on, expressing a conviction, as he seated 
himself in the mud, that if they left the groom with him, 
and Maxwell would take care of Miss Dennison, he should 


74 


UNCLE JOHN 


be all right in ten minutes, and able to jog home. Then 
his head drooped, and he turned faint again from sheer 
pain. 

In such an emergency it was Miss Blair’s nature to 
assume the command. 

“Kide back directly, Kobert,” said she addressing the 
groom, but with a glance of inquiry at Miss Dennison. 
“You must find the other carriage in the turnpike-road, 
say what has happened, and bring it on at once. We had 
better all get out, except Mrs. Dennison, and wait for it ; 
then there will be plenty of room for Mr. Mortimer, and he 
must be driven straight home. Mr. Maxwell, you must ride 
back through Middleton, and call at the doctor’s house, 
opposite the inn, red brick — you can’t mistake it — with a 
green railing. Tell him to come on directly. Turn to the 
right when you get out of the lane, and keep the turnpike- 
road. Middleton is three miles.” 

“ If the doctor’s not at home ? ” asked Maxwell. 

“Tell the assistant to come instead. He’s rather the 
best of the two. I am so glad you were not hurt ! ” 

Lexley knew already why these last words, spoken low 
and quick, made him wince with a strange sensation that 
was akin to pain. 

Aunt Emily, trying to look as if she had originated these 
directions herself, called Horace back as he was putting his 
horse into a canter. 

“If you can meet Mr. Dennison,” said she, “tell him 
what has happened, and impress on him that lie ought to 
come home without delay. It’s very odd, my dear,” turn- 
ing to Annie, “ but your uncle is sure to be miles out of the 
way when I want his advice.” 

“Which you never take,” thought Annie, but wisely 
held her tongue. 

So Mortimer was lifted into the waggonette in defiance of 
his protestations. Not unwillingly, after all ; for though 
he made light of the casualty, he had learned enough of 
surgery in his adventurous life, to be pretty sure his leg 
was broken above the ankle. Annie Dennison felt bound 
to accompany him, and her aunt, whose kindness of heart 
could be evoked by real suffering, arranged the cushions for 
his comfort with considerable ingenuity ; the footman also, 


PLUMPTON OSIERS 


75 


not without misgivings he would have perished rather than 
reveal, volunteered to bring the two riderless horses home. 
Altogether, as the sufferer himself observed, with a ghastly 
smile, “ No fellow ever was so well picked up, and he only 
regretted that his unlucky accident should have prevented 
them all seeing the end of the run.” 

As it would be hopeless to expect anything hut the most 
abridged account from Mr. Foster, who returned to dinner, 
it may not be irrelevant here to record the day’s “ doings ” 
of his celebrated hounds and the select few, Nokes, Stokes, 
and half a dozen others, who were with them. 

Abigail, having hit off the line by her own unassisted 
endeavours some hundred yards from where any of the rest 
had thought of trying, guided the pack for at least two 
miles over a track of bad scenting ground, till they found 
themselves in the pastures above Spinnithorne. Here, in 
consequence of the loss of time, for which the tinker in the 
Homan Hoad was answerable, another check ensued, which 
might have proved fatal, but that Foster, with an eye like a 
hawk, viewed the fox stealing through an orchard belonging 
to that Miss Lovelace whose claims for dead poultry it was 
the business of his life to assuage. Potter, riding a fresh 
horse, capped them on quicker than usual, and had the 
satisfaction of seeing his hounds race across three or four 
large enclosures, turn short down the side of a double 
hedgerow, and run fairly into their fox at the bottom of a 
deep dry ditch that surrounded a plantation on Mr. Screw- 
man’s farm, full of rabbit burrows, many of which were of 
a size that might afford sanctuary to a wolf. 

“ Who — whoop ! Tear him, old bitch ! ” he exclaimed, 
throwing himself from his horse and diving for the carcase, 
on which Abigail had fastened with most tenacious fangs. 
“ You’ll have your share, whoever goes without. Who — 
whoop ! ” he added, cutting off mask, brush and pads, while 
he looked up in Foster’s grim face, now radiant with 
delight. 

“ An old dog-fox, sir, and as tough as shoe-leather. It’s 
a good job he didn’t get in among them there rabbit-spouts 
afore they had hold on him. Worry, worry, worry ! 
Here puppies! Vaulter! Vanity! Dexterous! Worry 
— worry — worry ! Who — whoop ! ” 


76 


UNCLE JOHN 


And Mr. Foster entered the day’s sport in his diary with 
an emphatic “ Good” as fifty minutes — two checks — a 
seven mile point — and a kill in the open; while Farmer 
Mountain, who weighed eighteen stone, and stuck to the 
high-road like a man, thereby arriving before the remnants 
of the fox had entirely disappeared, swore it was the best 
gallop he ever saw in his life. 


CHAPTER VI 


MAN-EATERS 

After a storm comes a calm. It is a fortnight since the 
good run from Plumpton Osiers, and in less than an hour 
the gong will sound for luncheon at the Priors. Meantime 
peace and quiet pervade the blue drawing-room in which 
Percy Mortimer and his broken leg are established. The 
Middleton doctor has “ reduced the fracture,” as he calls 
it ; a process the sufferer renders by the expression 
“ spliced it where it was sprung ; ” the bone is knitting, 
and the patient going on favourably. Indeed, Percy, as he 
often boasts, is an excellent subject for surgical operations. 
His constitution is healthy, his temperament easy and 
somewhat lethargic. He possesses plenty of courage, and 
derives a certain amusement from such experiments as 
those to which he is now subjected, even when made on his 
own person. He has lived in so many strange scenes and 
places, has so often been prostrated by accident or illness 
— with a screen of branches for a roof, a tattered blanket 
and w T eather-worn saddle for bedding, and an Indian squaw 
or a swarthy Affghan for nurse — that to be laid up in this 
luxurious drawing-room, with books and newspapers at 
hand, hot-house flowers on the table, and every female 
creature in the house his devoted slave, seems a positive 
luxury and delight. 

His eye travels lazily round till it rests on the figure of 
Annie Dennison, drawing at the window, but looking up 
every now and then with a dreamy, abstracted air, sug- 
gestive of her occupation, and by no means unbecoming 
to a pretty woman. 

It has just struck him that to have such a companion 

77 


78 


UNCLE JOHN 


about one every day, even when no longer held by the leg 
on a drawing-room sofa, might he worth the sacrifice of 
many bachelor comforts and pleasures which no man is 
better able to appreciate, and of which no man in his time 
has made better use. 

Physical pain, especially when borne without complaint, 
seldom fails to win a woman’s sympathies and excite her 
interest. Annie established herself from the first as head 
nurse to Mr. Mortimer, and in a very few days it seems 
the most natural thing in the world that his sofa should be 
wheeled into the blue drawing-room, and that he should 
spend the morning tete-a-tete with Mrs. Dennison. 

Far be it from me to profess dissent from any article 
of faith cherished by that order of fire-worshippers who 
scorch, if they do not entirely consume, their own hearts 
on an altar of self-immolation. No doubt the true believer 
“ drags at each remove a lengthening chain.” No doubt 
“absence” (if not too prolonged) “makes the heart grow 
fonder,” and the ideal reigns perhaps most triumphantly 
when there is nothing present to destroy his or her 
ideality. But Gutta cavat lapidem : constant dropping 
wears away a stone ; constant flirtation saps the character 
while it deteriorates the brain. Kepeated confidences 
kindle into sympathy — the tow and tinder of which men 
and women are proverbially composed, only wait a chance 
spark, a rising breeze, to become a bonfire, and propinquity 
is perhaps the most combustible ingredient of all. Then, 
even if the heart remain steady, the fancy is sadly apt to 
stray, and one step at least is taken on that downward 
path which runs in a steeper incline at every inch, and 
hurries us, before we know where we are, to the very 
bottom of the hill. 

Percy Mortimer always boasted that he could stop and 
put on the drag-chain whenever he chose. He had often 
been in love, but never, as yet, with only one woman at 
a time; and believed himself, as he was believed by his 
friends, to be incapable of committing what he and they 
considered the crowning imprudence of matrimony. His 
mother, his aunts, all his female relations, persistently 
recommended the institution, even while they were pre- 
pared to revile and vituperate any lady who should propose 


MAN-EATERS 


70 


herself as a candidate for its advantages, and professed 
themselves, as no doubt they felt, eager to receive “ dear 
Percy’s ” wife with open arms — an expression best under- 
stood by those who have had most experience of the 
cordiality that exists between relations by marriage. 

But “ dear Percy” did not see it. He got on very well 
as he was — could tolerate his own society better than that 
of people who bored him, liked his own way, his own 
pursuits and amusements, his own friends, married and 
single, his horses, his cigar — above all, his liberty. To- 
day, for the first time, he began to think there might be 
something in life better than all these. 

“ Turn your head a little towards the fireplace, Mr. 
Mortimer,” said Annie, from the window. “ I’ve rubbed 
your nose out three times, and a very provoking nose it is. 
Never mind ! don’t move, if it hurts you, please” 

“Most certainly not!” answered Percy, laughing. 
“ But turning one’s head does not necessarily give one a 
pain in the leg. Will that do ? Make a good nose of it, 
Miss Dennison — art should be nature idealised, not copied. 
On the aquiline, if you please, as much as possible, and off 
the snub. Have you done the tiger ? ” 

“I’m coming to him directly I’ve straightened your 
nose,” said the artist, whose talent lay chiefly in caricature. 
“ But was it a true story, Mr. Mortimer ? ” Uncle John 
made my blood run cold when he described how the 
creature stood over you waving its cruel tail like a cat with 
a mouse. Poor mouse ! What a moment it must have 
been ! Tell me all about it from beginning to end. I 
shall draw it as well again if you do.” 

“ There’s not much to tell, only the mouse had a squeak 
for it. Do you know what a shekarry is ? ” 

“Not the least. The only Indian word I know is 
bungalow , and I haven’t an idea what it means. Now I’ve 
begun the tiger’s back. How do their stripes go ? The 
long way of the skirt, or across it ? Don’t move your 
head. Tell me exactly how it happened, without any 
Indian words, whilst I finish his tail.” 

“ Well, I was at a station — never mind where — what we 
call up country, staying with a very good fellow, an indigo- 
planter with one eye. Did you ever see an indigo-planter? 


80 


UNCLE JOHN 


No ? Well, you’ve seen a fellow with one eye, and that’s 
near enough. One day after tiffin ” 

“ Stop. What’s ‘ tiffin ’ ? Don’t say that again.” 

“After luncheon, then, a native made his appearance 
in a state of dismay and trepidation, to tell us that his 
relatives, his belongings, his entire village, were in terror 
of their lives from the depredations of a man-eater.” 

“ That’s an Indian word, I’m sure. Don’t take your 
eyes off the chimney-piece, and confine your narrative to 
plain English.” 

“ Man-eater is plain English ; I’ve seen lots of them in 
London, and elsewhere, with striped dresses, and other 
tiger-like qualifications. For fifteen miles round, it 
seemed the beast kept everybody in alarm, and, according 
to the native’s account, had eaten within the month seven 
children, a water-carrier, and a tough old Hindoo woman, 
the speaker’s grandmother. My friend who was drinking 
brandy paiv — brandy-and-water, I mean — thought the 
story probable enough, and in short, being a resolute 
fellow, determined to lie in wait at a certain spot the beast 
frequented, next morning at daybreak, and kept his eyes 
open.” 

“ His one eye open, if you please,” interposed the young 
lady. “I’m sketching him doing it. If this improbable 
story really be true, let us have the truth, the whole truth, 
and nothing but the truth, Mr. Mortimer.” 

“ You must draw him with a good deal of stomach then, 
and very thin legs,” continued Percy; “and the eye that 
is open ought to be as sharp as a needle. He made all his 
arrangements overnight, ordered everything to be ready — 
guns, fellows to carry them, an elephant to take us to the 
ground, etc., and at four in the morning we settled com- 
fortably to our coffee, for of course I said I’d go with 
him.” 

“ Of course you did, and I think it was very foolish — no, 
I don’t ! I think you were quite right.” 

“ ‘ Can you draw a bead ? ’ said my friend as soon as we 
got fairly under weigh. ‘ You must shoot to an inch, when 
you go out to kill a tiger on foot. He’s not like a pheasant 
in Norfolk, you know. If you’re at all uncertain, you had 
better remain with the elephant. I should be sorry for 


MAN-EATEBS 


81 


you to risk your life in the kind ot sport we are likely to 
have to-day.’ 

“ Of course I swore I could shoot like Colonel Ross, and 
so, though I was in a blue funk, I resolved to do my best, 
and put a bold face on it, while the elephant tramped 
steadily on.” 

“Had the elephant tusks?” interrupted Miss Annie. 
“ I’m putting it in the background.” 

“ Tusks ! Of course it had, and horns too,” answered 
Percy laughing. “Well, Miss Dennison, you’ll hardly 
believe it, but no sooner were we in sight of the tope — the 
clump of trees that was to guide us — than we came upon 
the beast’s track, printed off quite fresh in the clay, by a 
water spring. We had no doubt then of his size, or the 
shape of his claws. My friend’s one eye blazed like a 
lamp. 

“ ‘ We’ll get down here,’ said he, ‘ and leave the elephant 
to take us back again.’ I only hoped the elephant’s load 
might not he lightened for its homeward journey. 

“We placed ourselves in a narrow pass, such as you 
would almost call a ‘ ride ’ in a woodland here, waiting till 
the beaters should have driven up to us. Notwithstanding 
the diabolical row they made, I swear I could hear my 
heart beat. The indigo -planter, however, seemed as cool 
as was compatible with a temperature of 90° Fahrenheit in 
the shade.” 

Miss Dennison had laid her pencils down and was look- 
ing at him, as Desdemona (before marriage) looked at 
Othello. 

“Presently I felt his hand on my shoulder. ‘ Right in 
front of you,’ he whispered. * Twenty yards, not an inch 
farther. You’ll see his head when he moves.’ 

“ But when you come to paint that masterly sketch, Miss 
Dennison, please don’t forget that a tiger’s dress, as you 
call it, matches in colour the jungle he frequents. In the 
gaudy tawny and orange hues that surrounded me I could 
make out nothing, positively nothing, till I fancied the 
reeds began to shake. 

“ * Steady,’ whispered one-eye, who was born a Scotchman, 
and under strong excitement spoke the language still. 

* Tak’ time, man ! Now ! give it him.’ 

6 


82 


UNCLE JOHN 


“Whether it was the noise the beaters made, or the 
roar of the animal, or both combined, I cannot say, but 
such a fearful row I never heard in my life as at that 
moment. The reeds seemed to divide of themselves and 
out rushed a beast as big as a donkey, making straight 
towards me, with a sleek round head as broad as a bull’s. 

“ I took the best aim I could at his mouth, and let him 
have an eleven-bore ball crash into the very middle of it.” 

“Oh, Mr. Mortimer ! How could you ? ” 

“ How couldn't I, you mean. Instead of his tumbling 
headlong at my feet, as I fully expected, I heard a rush 
and singing in my ears, a long dark body seemed to shoot 
between me and the sun. I felt something like an electric 
shock, only stronger, and I found myself half stunned, half 
paralysed, but not so frightened as I should have thought, 
lying on my back, with a wide hairy chest astride over mine, 
and a ton of weight driving spikes through my left arm as 
it pinned me to the ground. 

“ He said I didn’t faint ; but the next thing I remember 
was my friend giving me brandy, and the tiger stretched 
out stone dead, three or four yards off. What really 
happened was this. When the beast came at me out of 
the jungle I shot him, as I meant to do, in a vital place ; 
but I fancy I must have aimed an inch too low, for I only 
broke his jaw. In two bounds he was on me, and if I had 
been alone, why, I should never have inflicted on you so 
long a story in this pretty drawing-room. But the indigo- 
planter was as cool a hand and as good a sportsman as 
ever sat in a howdah. He knew the nature of the beast 
was so far cat-like that it would gloat for an instant over 
its victim before dealing the fatal buffet, and of that 
instant he took advantage. With a deliberate and deadly 
aim he finished it up by a double shot through the spine. 
There was not a moment to spare, and, as I said before, I 
think you must allow the mouse had a squeak for it.” 

Annie felt more interested than she cared to own, so 
applied herself sedulously to her drawing, while she asked : 

“ And what became of the Hindoo — the person whose 
grandmother was eaten by the tiger ? ” 

“ The Hindoo was like other Hindoos, very grateful and 
demonstrative, with a shade of polite insincerity. His ideas 



Out rushed a beast as big as a donkey.” 


Uncle John] 


[Page 82 





































MAN-EATERS 


83 


on the subject of tigers, as I gathered from my friend, 
were most remarkable. Had the last shot not killed the 
tiger, in which case the tiger must assuredly have killed 
me, nothing would have persuaded this intelligent native 
hut that my spirit was destined to accompany the animal 
in its excursions, and assist it to obtain its prey. Fancy me, 
disembodied, if you can, leading a tiger about in a leash, 
like Una with the lion ! That woidd he a subject for a 
sketch — Miss Dennison, won’t you try it ? ” 

Annie shook her head. “ I don’t like joking about these 
horrors,” said she; “ but you can’t mean that the natives 
seriously believe such absurdities ? ” 

“ I will only tell you what the old gentleman positively 
assured us happened in his own case, some years before. 
His eldest son had been killed by a tiger, and partly eaten, 
when the brute was disturbed, and driven away from its 
meal. The father, armed with a rusty match-lock, as long 
as himself, climbed into a tree at night, resolved to watch 
the body, and have a shot at the beast, when it returned, 
as it certainly would, for another supper off his hoy. He 
had not long to wait. The tiger stole out of the jungle, 
and came gliding into the moonlight, when, just as the 
weapon covered the vital spot, he whisked round, and 
slipped into the covert again. The corpse, sitting upright, 
was nodding at the tree on which the avenger had perched 
himself, and its friendly warning had not been in vain. 
The Hindoo then came down and fastened the hoy’s body 
to the ground. Again he watched, and again the tiger 
made his appearance, hut one of the corpse’s hands was 
free, and that hand pointed faithfully towards the post of 
danger with the same result as before. The undefeated 
old gentleman came down, nevertheless, once more, and 
pinned his hoy’s body secure to the earth, so that it could 
not move a limb. His patience and perseverance were re- 
warded. The tiger emerged a third time, and finished a 
hasty morsel with an ounce of lead in his brain. The man 
stuck to the truth of his story with the utmost confidence. 
A great English sahib had bought the tiger’s skin, and it 
was well known in Mysore and the adjacent districts that 
such was the nature of the man-eater and the destiny of 
his victim. Miss Dennison, have you finished your sketch ? ” 


84 


UNCLE JOHN 


“ I should like to have seen all you have, Mr. Mortimer,” 
said the young lady, colouring her tiger with some sepia 
and the feather-end of a pen. “ Gentlemen have a great 
advantage over ladies. They go about the world seeing 
and doing things, while we can only sit at home and — 
draw.” 

He looked up. The last word was not quite what he 
expected. Her head was bent over her colour-box, and he 
could not help thinking what a beautiful sketch she herself 
would make in that attitude, if only she could be transferred 
to cardboard or canvas. Something whispered, ‘ Why not 
become possessor of the original ? You have money ; you 
are neither old nor ugly ; your manners are pleasant ; your 
position undeniable. Surely you have only got to ask and 
have.” But perhaps the assumed facility of the transaction 
lessened its charm, and Percy felt he was not yet so far 
gone but that he could balance calmly the pros and cons of 
that irrevocable plunge, which for the first time in his life 
he contemplated the possibility of making. 

She little thought what a push she gave him towards the 
brink by her innocent question, asked, nevertheless, with a 
faint increase of colour in her cheek : 

“ Do you know if Mr. Maxwell is expected to-day ? He 
said he should come down again to see how you were getting 
on.” 

Now Horace Maxwell, who remained at the Priors to 
watch his friend’s recovery for nearly a week after the 
accident of which he was the innocent cause, had carried 
with him to London the good wishes of everybody in the 
house. Even Aunt Emily declared that he showed more 
feeling than she could have expected from any young man of 
the present day, while the skill with which he rode Barme- 
cide up to their joint catastrophe, constituted him a prime 
favourite with Uncle John. Miss Blair had been prepared 
to like him from the first, and her conviction that her 
influence over him was less than she expected, in no way 
decreased her partiality. She had never before any diffi- 
culty in such matters, but here was one with whom she 
began swimmingly, and never advanced a step. She 
reflected, she wondered, she watched. She could not make 
out whether he was taken by Miss Dennison or not. 


MAN-EATERS 


85 


And Annie, who asked herself the very same question, 
had decided, with more prudence than young ladies 
generally possess, that it must never be answered, one way 
or the other. Mr. Maxwell was nice , no doubt. None of 
her partners or male friends had ever been so nice. More 
of a man of the world than Lexley, who besides had become 
very odd and altered of late. Better looking than Mortimer, 
and altogether, as it seemed to her, belonging to a different 
class of beings from honest Nokes and Stokes, gone back to 
duty in their barracks. But he was not a marrying man. 
Some instinct, usually dormant in the breast of woman till 
she becomes a chaperon, had warned Annie that his pleasant 
glances, his bright smiles, were simply the frank tribute of 
one who had nothing else to offer. She did not forget an 
occasion when she found him in the billiard-room, holding 
a confidential conversation with Miss Blair. They changed 
colour, she was sure, when she opened the door. Miss 
Dennison was not much given to analysing her feelings, or 
she might have felt alarmed at certain pangs of jealousy 
occasioned by the confusion of the gentleman, and the dis- 
inclination she felt afterwards for the society of the lady. 

Still, though one never means, and don’t even want, to 
marry a man, one can appreciate his good qualities, he glad 
that he should visit one, and ask his friend, not without a 
blush, when one is likely to see him again. 

“He talked of to-day,” answered Percy, moving his 
sound leg uneasily on the sofa ; “ but that’s no reason he 
should come. People cannot tear themselves away from the 
delights of London. Look at the Pikes — promised faithfully, 
threw everybody over, and never appeared at all.” 

“ You say that on purpose to make me angry,” exclaimed 
Annie. “ You know that she is my dearest friend, and the 
General is simply my idol. But how could they come when 
baby was ill ? It is brutal to think of it.” 

“ Babies never ought to be ill,” was his answer. “ They 
never are, when properly brought up. Look at savages : I 
lived with a tribe once who turned their children out of their 
lodges directly they were weaned. The weakly died off, the 
strong grew up, and everybody was satisfied. Don’t go, 
Miss Dennison, I’m not such an ogre as you think.” 

“ I must go,” replied Annie ; “ but I’ll tidy you up first. 


UNCLE JOHN 


Luncheon will be ready in five minutes, and most of the 
sepia for your tiger’s stripes has come off on my hands. Yes, 
I don’t mind showing you the sketch, hut you must promise 
not to bounce about and fidget with the sofa-cushions. 
You’re not nearly so good a patient as you were, Mr. 
Mortimer. I suppose that means you are getting better.” 

“It means I have too kind a nurse,” replied Percy, 
looking gratefully in the girl’s face, while she put her half- 
finished sketch into his hand. 

“ I’ll do it,” he thought, “ hang me if I won’t ! ” Then 
he reflected on the great disadvantage at which a suitor is 
placed when fastened down to a sofa by a broken leg. Had 
the lady been a person of experience — a widow, for instance, 
or a London girl of many seasons’ practice, or even Miss 
Blair, as he had lately learned to call her — the helplessness 
of his attitude would have been rather in his favour. 
Through all natures seems to prevail the law of mechanics, 
that “ action and reaction are equal and contrary.” In 
love and in business alike, each seems prepared to advance 
in proportion as the other recedes, until some imaginary 
line is reached at which people come to an understanding 
and conclude the transaction. But such mutual accommo- 
dation can only be calculated with certainty when both are 
experienced dealers, well acquainted with the value of their 
wares. In the present instance Percy thought it more 
than probable that anything like a premature declaration 
would put Miss Dennison to a flight he would be powerless 
to check by the exercise of certain gentle yet resolute 
measures that his experience taught him produced very 
soothing results. To he left on a sofa, with a half-finished 
offer on his lips, that could only he completed at a young 
lady’s pleasure, when, where, and how she would ? Not 
if he knew it ! Into so thoroughly false a position Mortimer 
would be the last man on earth to blunder ; and so, instead 
of seizing the pretty hand that held the sketch and pressing 
it to his lips, he contented himself with a kindly glance into 
the pretty face, and a request that he might become the 
proud possessor of the picture when complete. 

“ I don’t know,” said Annie. “ You’ll hang it up some- 
where, and laugh at it with your bachelor-friends.” 

“ On the contrary, I shall keep it under lock and key, in 


MAN-EATERS 


87 


a portfolio, and only look at it when I feel I want taking 
down a peg. You are strong in caricature, Miss Dennison, 
but you are not merciful. Am I really so ugly as that ? ” 

“ India is very unbecoming, I have been told,” answered 
Annie demurely. “ I never saw you there, you know, so I 
have drawn on my imagination.” 

“And drawn from it to some purpose, it seems. Well, 
it’s lucky we cannot see ourselves as others see us. The 
tiger is capital. Is he drawn from the imagination too ? ” 

“ Oh ! no. I’ve seen him at the Zoological.” 

“ Why don’t you see me at the Zoological? I know all 
the keepers, and a good many of the beasts. Won’t you 
come to the Zoo with me, some day, when we get hack to 
London ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” said Annie, again. “ I must really 
go and wash my hands now. The gong will sound in five 
minutes.” 

“ First tell me who that is coming up the avenue. I can 
just see a hat between the cedars.” 

He seemed desirous to prolong the conversation. It was 
so pleasant to have her there all to himself. In the after- 
noon, of course, she would go out walking, or riding, or 
driving; and their tete-a-tete would be broken up for the 
rest of the day. 

“It’s Mr. Lexley,” answered Annie. “ He often comes 
to luncheon now, and walks the whole way — eleven miles ! 
Mr. Mortimer, do you know ” 

“ Do I know what ? ” 

“ It’s very ridiculous, of course, but I can’t help thinking 
that Mr. Lexley is rather inclined to — to like somebody 
here” 

“ Meaning Miss Dennison ? ” 

She flushed up. “Not meaning Miss Dennison the 
least. Somebody very different from Miss Dennison.” 

“You can’t mean Mrs. Dennison!” he exclaimed, raising 
his eyebrows in affected horror. “And a clergyman, too! 
How shocking ! ” 

“I am serious,” she answered, though she could not 
help laughing, “ which you never are for five minutes, even 
with a broken leg. Of course he likes Aunt Emily and all 
of us very much, hut I don’t fancy he would walk two-and- 


88 


UNCLE JOHN 


twenty miles, between breakfast and dinner, to see anybody 
on earth but Miss Blair. Mr. Mortimer, I am convinced 
you can tell me — who is Miss Blair? ” 

She did not fail to notice his embarrassment, and the 
lame way in which he tried to evade her question. 

“ A friend of your aunt’s, I fancy. A very old friend of 
Mrs. Dennison ; that is why she is here so much.” 

“But you have known her a long time? She said so 
herself, the night before last.” 

“ I have met her abroad.” 

“Where?” 

He escaped into generalities. “ Oh ! everywhere abroad. 
She’s been knocking about over the whole of abroad, and so 
have I.” 

“Was she in society! I don’t mean in China or the 
Sandwich Islands, or any of those out-of-the-way places, 
but in Paris and Vienna and Cannes ? ” 

“Oh! yes; I believe so. But I am not a very good 
judge ; I have never thought much about her. I dare say 
you have formed your own opinion, and it’s far more likely 
to be right than mine.” 

“ I dare say I have,” replied Annie, looking thoughtfully 
at her sketch. “ My opinion is that she’s a man-eater ! 
There ! What shall I send you in for luncheon ? 


CHAPTER VII 


SEEKING REST 

Eleven miles, heel and toe, through every variety of 
scenery, by breezy common, woodland path, devious bridle- 
road, and bottomless by-lane, ought to give anybody an 
appetite ; yet it was remarked, even by the servants who 
waited, that when Mr. Lexley came to luncheon at the 
Priors he ate less than the most delicate lady who sat 
at table. The truth is, Lexley was hit; hard hit as 
a man is once in a lifetime : he gets over it, and perhaps 
when the wound is healed, it has done him no great 
harm, though we may be sure it has taught him not to 
“jest at scars”; but, in the meantime, he becomes an 
object of pity, or of envy, according to the creed we 
hold. Who would not wish his faculties to he so sharpened 
that the mere sigh of a breeze thrills like music to his 
heart — the very scent of a flower rises like intoxication to 
his brain ? But at the same time who would wish his 
happiness to be so dependent on the caprices of another, 
that a word, a look, a gesture, perhaps unintentional, 
have power to inflict on him nights of wakefulness and days 
of woe? It is good to take life as it comes, shrinking 
in no way from its responsibilities, accepting its pleasures, 
setting our teeth against its pains ; but there is a cup at 
which the wise man is content to wet his lips and so put it 
down, knowing better than to drain it, for surely plus aloes 
quam mellis habet. Liquid fire and bitter poison are in its 
dregs. 

The first night he had ever seen her, the night he heard 
her play, Algernon Lexley told himself that here was the 
woman who for him could make earth a paradise. The 

89 


90 


UNCLE JOHN 


next two days only convinced him that without her life 
must henceforth be a blank, and that to win her no 
sacrifice would be too costly, no price too high. When 
he had been twenty-four hours in his parsonage a reaction 
set in. How should a mere country curate, he thought, 
aspire to such a paragon as this ? Everybody in like plight 
has felt with Helena — 


“ It were all one 

As I should love a bright particular star 

And think to wed it.” 

And surely it is better so. Youth is the period of illusion 
and of effort. There is plenty of time in after life to 
find out that the “ particular star ” is a farthing rushlight, 
and that le jeu ne vaut pas la chandelle. 

Algernon Lexley struggled hard for a day and a night ; read 
Greek ; dug in his garden ; visited every old woman in the 
parish ; and walked after dinner in the dark so far and so 
fast that he went to bed and slept sound for sheer weariness. 
Next morning he felt in better spirits, but more in love 
than ever. That day and many days after, scarcely at 
decorous intervals, he found himself dropping in to luncheon 
at the Priors — to get the character of a village school- 
mistress, to ask Aunt Emily the price of her church har- 
monium, to consult works of divinity in Uncle John’s library, 
more than once without any excuse at all. Each time he went 
full of hope ; each time he returned despondent and self- 
abased, smarting under the fear that he had been ridiculous, 
stung by misgivings as to his dress, his manners, his 
personal appearance ; tortured by a thousand unreal doubts 
and causeless anxieties, while he extracted with perverse 
ingenuity matter for sorrow, resentment, despair, from the 
common greetings of politeness, the established usages of 
society. Altogether he was in a most uncomfortable state, 
attributed by himself, to the charms of Miss Blair, though 
perhaps the student of human nature would have considered 
her merely as a vehicle for the imparting of a disease 
to which the young man’s system was predisposed. Had 
she stayed away a little longer he would probably have 
taken to worship Miss Dennison ; but there is a fatality in 
these things, and he became a fool about Laura Blair. 


SEEKING BEST 


91 


Look at him now, and say if it is not a pity. A spare 
athletic figure coming up the avenue with swift strides, that 
decrease visibly in speed and scope as they approach the 
house. Eleven miles from door to door, and it is scarcely 
two hours and a half since he left his own ; yet, until 
he came in sight of those windows his breath had never 
quickened, nor had a drop of moisture risen on his brow. 
Without being handsome it is a prepossessing face, white 
and anxious though it has turned in the last minute. The 
dark eyes show fire, energy, and an immensity of faith. 
There is ideality in the brow ; firmness in the jaw, with 
its full black whiskers ; and in the thin, clean-shaved, 
flexible lips a sad capability of suffering, that can be kept 
down and hidden beneath a smile. 

He does not look like a man deficient in courage, yet he 
wavers, as cowards do, and comes on with a rush at the last 
moment to ring the door-hell. 

“ Is Miss — Mrs. Dennison at home ? ” says he, in a 
shaking voice, while he envies the cool self-respect of 
the footman who confronts him. 

“Luncheon has just gone in,” replies that functionary, 
who dined comfortably an hour ago. “Will you please to 
step this way, sir ? ” 

This way means straight into the dining-room, and he is 
fast losing his head. The old squire, in scarlet coat and 
hunting-cap, seems to reel and waver on the canvas as if 
he was alive and inebriated. 

Mrs. Dennison receives him coldly. That is her way, and 
discourages him only a little ; he shakes hands with her 
nevertheless, with Annie, with the rector’s daughters, with 
their brother from Marlborough College, whom he never 
met before ; lastly, with Miss Blair, whom he has seen, 
though he dared not look at her, ever since he came into 
the room. 

Did she, or did she not, return the pressure of his clasp 
ever such a little ? He fancies she did, and immediately 
his eye brightens, his courage rises, his colour returns. 
He becomes, on the instant, a bolder, bigger, and a 
handsomer man. She continues to eat her chicken, pale, 
unmoved, beautiful like the goddess of night. Will she 
ever eat chickens roasted in his kitchen, carved at his table? 


92 


UNCLE JOHN 


If lie could but summon up courage he would ask her this 
afternoon. 

The malady is intermittent. He was in the hot fix now ; 
the cold would follow in due course. There fell a silence 
while the butler offered him sherry. He must say some- 
thing, so “he hoped Mr. Dennison was well. He had come 
over to see him about their road-rate.” 

“ And walked all the way ? ” asked Annie, who knew he 
did, but whom some imp of mischief prompted to assume 
the aggressive. 

“All the way, Miss Dennison,” he replied. “It’s not 
very far — scarcely eleven miles, and through a beautiful 
country. I like the walk so much.” 

Miss Blair happened to look up, and their eyes met. 
Annie felt provoked. She admitted it afterwards and in- 
clined to be spiteful with both. 

“ Uncle John ought to be very much flattered,” said she. 
“ Dear old thing ! I wonder if anybody else would walk 
eleven miles to see him, or if he is really the great attraction 
here? ” 

Lexley turned scarlet. Miss Blair pitied him from her 
heart. She knew he was enduring martyrdom for her sake, 
and would have borne her share willingly if she could. 
Poor fellow ! how gentle he was, how inexacting, and how 
true ! Would that other man, amusing himself in London, 
walk eleven miles and back, only to say * How d’ye do ? * 
Not he ! What a pity they were so unlike! In the mean- 
time she advanced gallantly in support. “Dear Miss 
Dennison, you are forgetting another attraction in the next 
room. While we are saying pleasant things to each other, 
Mr. Mortimer is perishing with hunger. I thought you 
had established yourself as his nurse, for good and all.” 

Miss Blair had a quiet, incisive way of speaking that 
caused every syllable to ring clear and distinct, like the 
high notes of a pianoforte. 

Annie coloured and bit her lip. “ Somebody must take 
care of him,” said she, “ and of course it’s lonely for him 
now. Every one seemed attentive enough while Mr. 
Maxwell remained.” 

The return was fairly intended. Miss Blair had indeed 
shown greater commiseration for the sufferer, had frequented 


SEEKING BEST 


93 


the blue drawing-room more assiduously, so long as it was 
enlivened by the presence of his friend. 

“ Well, he’s coming back to-day,” she replied, with 
provoking calmness, as if it were a law of nature that she 
should know and regulate his movements. 

Annie had lost her temper, and forgotton her manners. 

“ Who told you so ? ” said she. “ Has he been writing 
to you? I dare say he has.” 

Lexley felt very uncomfortable. Could his idol then be 
carrying on a correspondence with another ? and that other 
such a rival as his old schoolfellow, whom, however, he had 
never before considered dangerous as a ladies’ man. In a 
second flashed on his brain the programme of his future, 
dating from that very afternoon. An authorised interview — 
for diffidence would henceforth be swamped in despair — with 
the mistress of his destiny — an avowal of life-long adoration, 
in spite of her confession that she was promised elsewhere 
— an eternal farewell — a letter to the Bishop, resigning 
his preferment, and a few short years of hardship, labour, 
and adventure amongst the Feejee Islanders (to whose 
chiefs, by the way, Mr. Mortimer could give him plenty 
of introductions), or other the most inconvertible of the 
heathen, to conclude with an early death and a missionary’s 
unknown grave. These cheerful anticipations were inter- 
rupted by the harsh voice of Aunt Emily, who, watching 
her opportunity, was not sorry for an occasion of snubbing 
her niece. 

“ I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Annie. If Mr. 
Maxwell had altered his plans he would have written to me, 
certainly not to Miss Blair, and I should hope not to you. 
Young ladies say such odd things in these days. I never 
can make out whether they are lamentably bold, or only 
lamentably silly.” 

“ Hope for the best, aunt,” replied Miss Dennison, whose 
ill humours never lasted above a minute. “ I’d rather be 
bold than silly. In the meantime, I shall take Mr. Mortimer 
his chicken. Thanks, Miss Blair, he likes it smothered in 
bread sauce.” 

And as the getting up of a single partridge causes the 
whole covey to rise, a general move was the result of Annie’s 
disappearance on her benevolent errand. 


94 


UNCLE JOHN 


At this juncture did Aunt Emily win the young clergy- 
man’s eternal gratitude and good-will. “ If you want to 
see the harmonium,” said she, “ it’s in the Sunday-school, 
The schoolroom’s locked, and the shoemaker has the keys. 
You’ll never find his house if you don’t know it, but Laura 
talked of going into the village this afternoon, and I dare 
say she will be good enough to show you the way. If you have 
anything to say to Mr. Dennison you’d better come back 
to tea.” 

So in less than ten minutes he was pacing a garden walk 
between the laurels side by side with Laura Blair. 

He was no fool, though foolishly in love. As he took in 
with a side glance the enchanting figure of his companion, 
he could not but admit that from the saucy feather in her 
little perched-up hat, to the tips of her neat walking-boots, 
she was very different from his ideal of a clergyman’s wife. 
Eight or wrong, it only made him the more determined to 
win her. No other woman surely was steeped in such an 
atmosphere of beauty — no other woman’s gloves fitted so 
well ; and he had never yet seen lockets and bracelets so 
becoming to the wearer. For him she seemed, as the 
Frenchman said, plus femme que les autres. That made 
the whole secret. His own difficulty was how to begin. 

They walked on in silence. She, too, revolved many 
things in her mind. It is not to be supposed that she was 
blind to such devotion as even a school girl must have 
detected ; and, like all women who have been accustomed 
to it, admiration was gratifying for its own sake. Of 
course, the homage of Mr. Wright pleases best, but in 
that gentleman’s absence, the adoration of Monsieur un 
Tel is sufficiently acceptable on the principle that one must 
wear mosaic if unable to obtain real gold. She had seen a 
great deal of the article, both false and true ; quite enough 
to value it when genuine and to crave for it when artificial 
and adapted only for temporary use. Besides, with all her 
courage, all her confidence, she was in this respect a very 
woman — it tired her to stand alone. She longed for a 
helper, an adviser — somebody to lean on, consult, contradict, 
and, in certain abnormal instances, to obey. 

She walked on, I say, in silence, as a winner can afford 
to do. The skilful angler allows her fish to play its foolish 


SEEKING REST 


95 


self, till, exhausted with splashing and struggling, she can 
land it without the line cutting her fingers or the water 
wetting her dress. The fish too was mute, hut not for long. 

“ Did Maxwell really write to you, Miss Blair?” said 
he, still savouring the hitter drop in a cup that might have 
been so sweet. 

“ Why should he not ? ” she replied, lifting her large grey 
eyes to his with that rare smile of which she well knew the 
effect. “ Would you rather he didn’t ? ” 

He often asked himself afterwards why, with such an 
opening, he had not dashed boldly in. Perhaps she 
thoroughly realised her power when he blushed, stam- 
mered, and answered — if answer it could be called : 

“ He’s an old friend of mine, you know. I was at school 
with him long ago. I — I wonder he didn’t write to me.” 

“Suppose he never wrote at all?” said she, laughing 
outright. 

He drew a long breath of intense relief, while she wondered 
how men could be so thick-witted, so much easier to manage, 
than the beasts of the field. 

Again they walked on in silence, and now they were 
nearing the wicket in the park paling through which they 
must emerge on the publicity of the village. His hands 
were cold, his throat was dry, his tongue clave to the roof 
his mouth. 

“ Miss Blair,” said he, in a faint thick voice ; and for 
the life of him he could not get out another syllable. 

“Well, Mr. Lexley?” 

How could she remain so cool and calm while he felt 
literally choking with emotion ? It stung him just enough 
to give him courage. Loosening his neckcloth and squaring 
his shoulders, he stood up like a man and looked her in 
the face. 

“ He certainly has a good figure,” she said to herself, 
“ and he’s not so ugly as I thought. I hope he isn’t 
going to ask me to marry him, for I feel as if I might 
almost say ‘ Yes.’ ” 

“Miss Blair,” he repeated, “will you forgive me for 
what I am going to tell you ? I want you to — to — I don’t 
know how to say it ; I never said such a thing to anybody 
before.” 


96 


UNCLE JOHN 


“ That is complimentary,” she said, half pitying, half 
mocking his agitation ; “ complimentary, hut not reassuring.” 

“ I want to make you understand — to tell you — of course, 
it’s no use — of course, I feel it’s hopeless ; hut — hut — Miss 
Blair, I never saw anybody like you. I never admired any- 
body so much, nor cared for anybody before. Couldn’t you 
— I don’t mean now, but at a future time when you know 
me better — couldn’t you care for me in return, and give me 
hope that at last you would — would look on me with some 
little regard ? ” 

He took her hand and was going to press it to his lips, 
had she not drawn it hastily away, admitting to herself, 
while she contrasted this with other declarations she had 
received of a like nature, that, considering he was so 
inexperienced, he had done it remarkably well. 

“ Mr. Lexley,” said she, perfectly calm and composed, 
“ am I to understand that you are asking me to he your 
wife ? ” 

“ I know I might as well expect an angel to come 
down from heaven and marry me, hut that is my desire,” 
he answered, unconsciously borrowing from the Baptismal 
Service his energetic affirmative. 

“ And do you know who I am — ivhat 1 am — how and 
where all my previous life has been spent, till you met me 
here for the first time, only a fortnight ago, Mr. Lexley — a 
fortnight yesterday ? ” 

“ Do you remember it ? ” he exclaimed eagerly. “ I 
could tell you every word you said that night. It was the 
beginning of a new life to me ! — whether for happiness or 
misery, it remains with you to decide. I have staked 
everything on your answer. Oh, Miss Blair, I could wait 
for years — I could go through fire and water — I could hear 
anything — except to give you up ! ” 

“ You do love me, I think,” she said very softly, but 
keeping at ami’s length the while. “ Listen, Mr. Lexley. 
You are younger than I am — younger in years, very much 
younger in knowledge of the world. Have you considered 
what it is to marry a woman without fortune, without 
position, without one single social advantage except a certain 
comeliness in your eyes, that will be faded long before you 
are past your prime ? Have you ever thought of what your 


SEEKING BEST 


97 


friends would say — your relations, your own parish, and the 
world in general ? ” 

“ I have considered nothing, I have calculated nothing, I 
have thought of nothing but you,” he answered impetuously. 
“ It is no question of me, hut of yourself. The whole world 
might turn its back and welcome, if I saw the least chance 
of a kind word and a smile from you once a week.” 

Most women are gamblers at heart. Even if they abstain 
from defying chance on their own account, there are few but 
acknowledge the charm of recklessness in the other sex, 
and a man is pretty sure to find favour in their eyes whom 
they see risking his all at heavy disadvantage because they 
themselves are the prize. Laura Blair was no exception to 
the general rule. The most rational argument, the wisest 
forethought, would have made far less way in her good 
graces than Lexley’s tumultuous declaration that he was 
ready and willing to pay any price for the toy he coveted, 
without even inquiring what it was worth. The unac- 
customed tears sprang to her eyes, hut she sent them hack 
with an effort ; and though her lip quivered, her voice was 
perfectly steady while she spoke. 

“ Mr. Lexley,” said she, “ you have paid me a very high 
compliment — one that I do not deserve. Hush ! do not 
interrupt me : I repeat, one that I do not deserve. No, I 
don’t hate you ; I like you — yes, very much. But that is 
not the question. Let go my hand ; if you choose to take 
it after you have heard me out — well, perhaps I may 
consider the matter you mentioned just now. And yet it 
seems impossible — impossible ! Yes, I know all that. I 
believe you — I do from my heart. But still, I say, it 
ought to be impossible. Now listen to me. You never 
smoke, do you ? If you did, I would ask you to light a 
cigar while I make my little statement. Never mind; 
promise to be a good boy and hold your tongue. Now, 
Mr. Lexley, this must be in the strictest confidence as 
between man and man.” 

“ Wait a moment,” the replied, stopping short, for they 
were walking up and down where the path was thickly 
screened by laurels. “ Before you begin, let me say one 
word. I do not care what disclosures you make. I love 
you just the same. If it were possible that your past life 


98 


UNCLE JOHN 


had been worse than any convict’s in prison, I should love 
you just the same. Even if you were married already,” he 
added in a trembling voice, “ it would break my heart, and 
I would never see you again ; but I should love you just 
the same ! ” 

A faint colour tinged the delicate cheek he had often 
compared to the inner petals of a white rose, and the face 
he worshipped glowed for a moment with a rush of pride, 
qualified by pity, astonishment, and something like self- 
reproach. 

“Married,” she repeated. “You have hit upon the 
exact truth. I have been married, Mr. Lexley. No ; you 
needn’t break your heart and fly the country for fear of 
seeing me again. I said I have been married. Nobody 
can regret it more than myself. Now, do you understand 
how foolish you are ? There are scores of girls in society 
who would love you very dearly, who would make ex- 
cellent wives, any one of whom I am sure you might have 
for asking, and everybody would say you had chosen wisely 
and well.” 

“I had rather choose for myself,” said he, looking 
rapturously in her face, for his hopes rose with the in- 
creasing kindness of her tone. “ I have chosen my queen ; 
and whenever she comes she shall find me ready, if I have 
to wait all my life and be disappointed at the end.” 

“ Don’t say that,” she answered with a sigh. “ You 
deserve a better fate. If there were more men like you in 
the world there would be more good women. As it is, 
there are plenty bad of both sexes, and I think fortune has 
thrown me among some of the worst. My father was not 
a good man, Mr. Lexley, though I have heard he was a 
good officer. He broke my mother’s heart. I can re- 
member when I was a little thing, how she used to cry 
when she came to wish me good-night. After she died 
I was sent away from home to stay with one relation after 
another, and whilst he lived I don’t think I saw him half-a- 
dozen times again. Poor mother ! How well I remember 
her. There is a miniature of her in my dressing-case 
upstairs. Mr. Lexley, you have a kind heart — I will show 
it you.” 

“ Was she like you V’ he asked. 


SEEKING BEST 


99 


“ In features, yes,” slie replied, smiling rather sadly. 
“ In disposition, very different, and very far superior. My 
mother was one of the best women that ever lived, and I 
sometimes think I am capable of being one of the worst ! 
On her death-bed she urged my father to marry a young 
lady, to whom she believed he was attached, and who, I 
learnt afterwards, received his attentions under the im- 
pression that he was a single man. He cared for her as 
little as for anybody else in the world, except Colonel 
Blair, but he was rather handsome, very agreeable, and 
Miss Bland loved him with all her heart. Mr. Lexley, I 
am telling you everything. Can you guess who Miss Bland 
was ? ” 

“Not a sister of Mrs. Dennison?” said he. “Her 
maiden name, I know, was Bland.” 

“Not a sister of Mrs. Dennison?” she repeated, “but 
Mrs. Dennison herself. Now you understand why Plumpton 
Priors is my home whenever I like to come, and why, 
though my position in her house is only that of a com- 
panion, Mrs. Dennison seems kinder and more considerate 
to me than to any of her own family or friends. I wonder 
whether I still remind her of papa. I hope not. The first 
time I ever saw her she said she knew me by something in 
my manner and the tone of my voice, even before I told her 
my name. I was friendless then, very forlorn and helpless. 
If it had not been for my two hands I must have starved : 
but, happily, I could play the pianoforte, and I gave lessons 
at eighteen-pence an hour. How long the hours used to 
be ! and oh, Mr. Lexley ! if you knew how stupid some 
girls are, and how difficult it is to make them play in 
time ! ” 

He was looking at her with a fond pitiful admiration that 
touched her to the heart. 

“ I hate to think of it,” said he. “ You, who ought to 
be a queen on a throne ! ” 

“I was a very stupid girl myself, once,” she continued 
hurriedly, and in some confusion. “I ran away from 
school. You ought to know this, Mr. Lexley. Ran away 
with a gentleman I had only seen in my walks to and from 
church, and had never even spoken to. He wrote me 
beautiful letters — I was young and foolish, hating school, 


100 


UNCLE JOHN 


and having no real home ; for a cousin of my father’s, who 
took charge of me in the holidays, never let me forget I was 
a dependent. It seemed a fine thing to have a lover of 
one’s own, and I suppose I cherished some romantic girlish 
notions then, that have all been knocked out of me since. 
In short, I slipped through the gate one morning, before 
anybody was up, with a thick veil on and a travelling-bag 
in my hand, to find a four-wheeled cab and a gentleman in 
a white hat waiting at the end of the lane. By twelve 
o’clock in the day I was legally entitled to call myself Mrs. 
Delaney, and crying as if my heart would break, for sheer 
fright at the plunge I had made.” 

“ Did you care for him? ” he asked eagerly, with retro- 
spective jealousy, that was equally ludicrous and un- 
reasonable. 

“I thought I did then,” she answered. “ I am sure 
I did not now. There was so much hurry and excitement 
about the whole thing, that I had no leisure to analyse my 
feelings, and I accepted this new life with tolerable content. 
The very fact of being married seems to a mere girl, as I 
was, so high a step in the social scale. For a -week or two 
I don’t think I regretted my folly, and if Mr. Delaney had 
been tolerably kind to me I believe I should have made him 
a good wife — perhaps loved him, though they say a woman 
never loves a man she cannot respect. But I soon found 
out what I had done, and wished myself back again a 
hundred times a day. It was bad enough to grind on 
through one unvarying routine of lessons, music, back- 
board, and bread-and-butter, in a place that was half-prison, 
half- convent, but it was worse to find oneself the slave of 
an adventurer, the accomplice — Mr. Lexley, I must say it 
— of a sharper ! 

“ Brussels, Paris, Vienna, Trieste, Italy, Greece — we 
visited them all, we left them all more or less tainted with 
suspicion, more or less detected or disgraced. You liked 
my playing the other night, didn’t you ? If I choose, Mr. 
Lexley, I can play better than most professionals. Well, 
our plan was this. We took beautiful rooms, drove good 
horses, lived like people with a large income, and gave 
pleasant little dinners or suppers, according to the fashion 
of the place. 


SEEKING BEST 


101 


“ You can guess what it all meant. Mr. Delaney would 
sit down to any game at cards, against any adversary, for 
any stake, but what he liked best was ecarte in my 
drawing- room, while I played the pianoforte and over- 
looked his adversary’s hand. Will you believe it — he 
invented a scale of music by which I could communicate to 
him the cards his antagonist held ; and forced me to assist 
him in this basest and most cowardly of robberies, because 
it was so impossible to bring it home ! I wonder how I 
could. I had rather have cut my right hand off ; but he 
frightened me and I did. Wait, I have not told you all. 

“We never stayed long in one place. Mr. Delaney 
understood his profession thoroughly, and passed for a 
wealthy Englishman tormented with the continual restless- 
ness foreigners attribute to our nation, who, attracted by 
her musical talents, had run away with a young girl from 
a convent, and dared not return home, dreading the 
vengeance of her relatives. This romance served to render 
us objects of interest, and accounted for my persistent 
performances on the pianoforte. In this way we travelled 
nearly round the world. We gave up Europe, after an 
unmistakable hint to leave Russia, for Egypt, India, Japan, 
Australia, South America, and New York. I played my 
treacherous sonatas, and my husband swindled his guests 
at whist, piquet, ecarte — every game in which my music 
made him independent of chance. He had often been 
suspected, but in the last place he was found out. A 
Yankee, of whom he won several thousand dollars, accused 
him face to face, and when I expected no less than a 
fearful fracas and an immediate duel, coolly proposed to join 
partnership with him in fraud, and ‘ floated by the lady’s 
assistance,’ as he expressed it, ‘ squeeze the marrow out of 
creation ! ’ 

“ Then I fired up. There wa3 a fearful row. I gave 
vent to the indignation I had smothered for years. I 
spoke my mind freely, till at last he struck me— I’m sure 
I don’t wonder — and I left the house, taking with me 
nothing but the clothes I had on, to earn my own liveli- 
hood, and never see his face again. 

“ I heard of him though, more than once, while I 
remained teaching music in New York and Boston, till I 


102 


UNCLE JOHN 


could scrape enough money together to bring me home. 
I heard of his trial for something like forgery, and the narrow 
escape he had through the manifest perjury of witnesses. I 
heard of him as concerned in all the gigantic swindles that 
come to full growth only in the States ; the last I heard was 
that he had started as an accredited agent from one of the 
new republics, to the Spanish Government at the Havannah, 
in a small steamer that had run many a blockade. The 
rest is too shocking to tell ; but you have listened so far, 
Mr. Lexley, you must listen to the end. 

“ The steamer never reached her destination ; the agent 
never arrived to present his papers ; but after a long 
interval of suspense that steamer came ashore one morning 
with the flood, her rigging standing, her fittings untouched 
— (you see I am sailor enough to speak like one) — but her 
cabins rifled and ransacked ; her decks, her bulwarks, her 
very taffrail stained with blood, and not a living soul on 
board. She must have been captured by pirates, who had 
not suffered one of her crew or passengers to escape. The 
surmise proved too true; and after a rigid inquiry was 
verified by the Spanish authorities, who sent a ship of war 
at once to hunt out and punish the offenders. Then I 
ordered my mourning, and went down on my knees to thank 
God that I had no children, and was free. 

“ I made my way back to England after a time, and re- 
suming my maiden name managed to make a livelihood out 
of my music, and felt tolerably happy. I increased the 
number of my pupils, and earned many a guinea playing at 
morning concerts. I wonder if I have ever played to you 
without knowing it. How odd it would be if I had ! So 
time went on and I should have liked the life very well, but 
that it was so lonely. The concert people I didn’t care 
about, and a woman who lives by herself in London — no 
compliments, please — cannot be too particular, so I had no 
friends. For days together I never opened my lips, except 
to say ‘ One, two, three, four,’ to my pupils ; so I took 
to reading the advertisements in the daily papers, and 
wondering if the lady who ‘ wanted a companion ’ would like 
such a companion as me. 

“At last I answered a notice that looked promising, 
made an appointment, called at the house, and was shown 
upstairs to Mrs. Dennison. 


SEEKING REST 


103 


“We rub on together very tolerably. She is kinder to 
me than to any one else. Last season, in London, she 
says she found me a great comfort. I don’t know how, nor 
why she required it, but if she is satisfied so am I. Then I 
came here for a few weeks in the autumn. Since that I 
have been staying in the Regent’s Park with an aunt of my 
mother’s, and a fortnight ago I returned for good. Now 
you know all about me, Mr. Lexley. Never breathe a 
syllable of my strange history. To you and to everybody 
here I am Miss Blair, and Miss Blair I must remain. We 
will both forget what you said just now and continue, I 
hope, the very best of friends.” 

She put her hand out frankly, and he did what was very 
natural under the circumstances, if not very discreet. 
Taking it in both his own he pressed it to his lips, and 
embarked, as she must have foreseen, on a torrent of pro- 
testations, the fiercer that they had been so long kept back. 

“I love you — I love you!” he repeated; “the more 
dearly, the more madly, for all you have gone through. 
Oh ! Miss Blair ; after such a life as yours it is something 
to find an honest man, who would ask no greater blessing 
than to toil for you and serve you like a slave. I would 
shelter you from every storm, defend you against every 
enemy. If I cannot give you happiness, Miss Blair — 
Laura — I can give you rest.” 

It was what she most desired on earth. No practised 
suitor versed in women’s ways could have invented any 
argument or entreaty so likely to prevail as this simple plea, 
that sprang from a truthful heart. She looked full in his 
face, with a sad smile. 

“You little know,” she answered, “ all you are so eager 
to undertake. I ought to give you a frank and hearty 4 Yes.’ 
I will, too, on certain conditions. I have a good deal of 
pride, Mr. Lexley, with other evil qualities you will find 
out in time, and none of your neighbours shall say that the 
adventuress at Plumpton Priors entrapped our parson into 
marriage under false pretences. You shall go at once to 
Mr. Dennison. I believe him to be the kindest and most 
generous of men. You shall tell him my whole history, 
and ask his advice. I have perfect confidence in his 
honour. I will abide by his decision. If he thinks it 


104 


UNCLE JOHN 


feasible — wby — perhaps we may argue the point again to- 
morrow in the same place. Here we are, back at the house, 
and you’ve never seen the harmonium after all. Good-bye. 
Will you do as I tell you ? ” 

He drew her towards him ; pressed one kiss on her 
forehead, and vanished, leaving Miss Blair in a state of 
much doubt and indecision as to whether she had done 
wisely or well. 


CHAPTER VIII 


THE LION’S DEN 

If an Englishman’s house is his castle, he certainly selects 
its donjon keep to live in himself. The squire’s justice- 
room, my lord’s library, the duke’s sanctum, is invariably 
the gloomiest apartment architectural science can devise; 
and whether a man’s position obliges him to inhabit a 
shooting-box or a palace, he seems constrained to move 
his blotting-book, cigars, bootjack, and other comforts into 
some dismal hole, whence there is small temptation for 
any supernumerary guest to turn him out. Mr. Dennison 
was no exception to the rule. He read, wrote, smoked, 
slumbered, and indeed spent the greater part of his 
life in an apartment from which the builder’s design had 
excluded light and air with surprising ingenuity. It was a 
low, ill-constructed room, that seemed to be all corners, with 
a heavy ceiling and two narrow windows facing a dead wall. 
Furnished in unpretending style, with a knee-hole table, a 
worn leather sofa, a gun-rack, whip-stand, and weighing- 
machine, it was ornamented by a portrait of Daniel 
Lambert, a stutfed spaniel in a glass case, an ordnance 
map of the county, and a half-effaced print representing 
the meet of a pack of fox-hounds in the year 1750. A few 
shelves intended for books were laden with disused 
powder-horns, shot-pouches, and fishing tackle, all out of 
repair ; while the literary element, consisting of a ‘ Directory,’ 
a work on farriery, and an odd volume of a sporting novel, 
lay on the writing-table. One article, however, most 
desirable in itself, and of daily use, I have omitted to 
mention. It was a deep, easy, and sleep-promoting arm- 
chair. Mr. Dennison, after a cold ride, to inspect hospital 


106 


UNCLE JOHN 


accounts, or preside at poor-law boards, loved to lose him- 
self in its embraces, and court those unacknowledged 
snatches of daylight slumber that always seem more enjoy- 
able than the authorised oblivion of night. 

From these he was so often disturbed by Aunt Emily, 
who had no scruple in waking people up to their duty, that 
he compared himself to Baron Trenck — when, in the perse- 
cutions of a Prussian prison, that martyr learned to answer 
the sentries in his sleep. 

The old face seems very worn and weary, though calm 
and still, in its repose ; the thin hair is very white against 
the black leather covering of the chair; but waking or 
sleeping, lips and brow wear the placid expression that is 
stamped by a good heart ; and Uncle John, lying dead in 
his coffin, will look very much as he does now, at rest in 
his arm-chair. 

It disturbs him but little that the door should be flung 
open, letting in a rush of cold air, answered like clock-work 
by a puff of smoke down the chimney, and succeeded by 
the entrance of his wife, who, flouncing noisily into the 
room, sweeps sundry papers off the writing-table with the 
swing of her skirts. He is used to such abrupt arrivals 
and- departures, so he raises his sleepy eyes, and murmurs, 
“ Well, my dear, is there anything I can do for you? ” 

“ It is surprising to me,” says Aunt Emily in her 
harshest tones, “ how you can snore there like a pig, 
Mr. Dennison, when you were in bed last night before 
twelve o’clock, and didn’t get up this morning till a quarter 
to nine. It can’t be good for you. It’s just the way poor 
Uncle Edward went off, and I suppose if anybody else told 
you it was unhealthy, you’d make an effort and discontinue 
the practice. But I may talk till I’m hoarse.” 

“Don’t do that, dear,” he answers; “I’m wide awake 
now. Is there anything amiss ? Anything you want me 
to put right ? ” 

“Fifty things,” is the ungracious reply. “However, 
that is not the question. I’ve a piece of news — I dare say 
you won’t believe it — I think Laura has made a conquest. 
I think Algernon Lexley would propose to her if he had the 
chance.” 

“ Keally,” says he, trying to look more surprised than 


THE LIOHS DEN 


107 


he feels. Uncle John, though long since impervious to the 
universal malady, has not forgotten its symptoms, hut to 
admit that he suspected anything of the kind would he to 
lay himself open to reproach for not imparting so exciting 
a surmise. He contents himself, therefore, with another, 
“ Really ! ! ” yet more suggestive of wonder than the first. 

“ Mind, I only say I think it,” continues Mrs. Dennison, 
looking exceedingly sagacious. “ I can see as far as my 
neighbours, and I am confident he admires her. They are 
out walking together now, and I shouldn’t wonder the least 
if he proposed before they come home. She will consult 
me, of course. I don’t know quite what to say. It would 
be a good thing for Laura, if it can be a good thing for a 
woman to he married.” 

“ And a bad thing for Lexley,” says Uncle John ; “ if it 
can be a bad thing for a man to be married.” 

“Oh! I know what you think,” continues his wife, 
irritably. “ But I am considering my friend’s welfare, here 
and hereafter. What’s his living worth ? ” 

Mr. Dennison pondered. “Perpetual curacy, my dear,” 
he answered, “not a living, more’s the pity. It may bring 
him in three hundred a year at the outside. He has some 
private fortune, I know ; but still he is hardly what you 
ladies call a good match. Hadn’t they better put it off, and 
see what turns up ? ” 

“You always say that, when people are going to he 
married,” replied his wife, in high scorn. “You never 
seem to think it can answer, though I am sure in your own 
case it has been the saving of you. If it hadn’t been for 
me — managing, scheming, toiling like a slave — you’d have 
been ruined years ago ; and in your grave too, I firmly 
believe. But it's no use looking for gratitude from a 
man ! ” 

“ My dear, I’m sure you’ve done admirably,” answered 
placable Uncle John ; “ but as Lexley, who is a well- 
principled fellow, does not think of proposing to you , it 
seems that we are travelling out of the record — what our 
friend Foster would call, getting off the line. By-the-by, 
Emily, have you ordered a room for young Maxwell ? ” 

“ Of course I have. Didn’t you tell me he was coming? 
It would be a good thing for Laura, no doubt,” continued 


108 


UNCLE JOHN 


Mrs. Dennison, reverting to the engrossing topic. “ She 
has no friends, no expectations, not a farthing of her own ; 
and her good looks are fading every day. I really believe 
she couldn’t do better. And as for him ” 

“ As for him,” repeated Uncle John, “it’s not quite so 
clear a case. She’s a wonderful musician, no doubt ; has a 
handsome face, a fine figure, and is always beautifully 
dressed ; but do you consider she’s the sort of person to 
make a good clergyman’s wife ? ” 

Now Mrs. Dennison was a shrewd woman enough, and 
this was exactly the point she had been debating in her own 
mind ever since the idea entered her head that it would he 
a capital thing for Laura if she could effect a match with 
the tall young parson. She was not without scruples, and 
although dissatisfied, as most women are, with the number 
she had drawn in the matrimonial lottery, entertained, in 
common with her sex, an exaggerated idea of the happiness 
enjoyed, through that institution, by those who were more 
fortunate than herself. She felt, and indeed proclaimed, 
that it was a great responsibility to bring people together 
with a view to coupling them for life ; always declaring she 
was the last person in the world to interfere in such matters, 
and had made it a rule, since she was a girl, to “ wash 
her hands,” as she expressed it, “ of the whole concern.” 

Whatever doubts she entertained as to its wisdom were at 
once dispelled by her husband’s apparent disinclination to 
her plan. It only required a little opposition to decide 
Aunt Emily on persevering in any line of conduct she had 
once commenced, and Uncle John was neither irritated nor 
surprised when, after a minute’s silence, she walked to the 
grate, stirred the fire with considerable vehemence, and 
thus delivered her verdict: 

“ I think it would he for the happiness of both. If my 
opinion is asked, I shall say so openly. It’s my firm belief 
marriages are made in heaven. You needn’t laugh, Mr. 
Dennison, though I dare say you consider the whole thing 
is a trial, rather than a blessing ! ” 

“ My dear, I never said so ! ” protested Uncle John, 
wondering at the sagacity that had thus fathomed his 
sentiments and the eloquence that could express them in 
so concise a form of speech. 


THE LION'S DEN 


109 


“Very well, then, that's settled,” continued Mrs. 
Dennison. “ Now, about the upper housemaid. I’ve 
paid her wages to the 8th — that’s her month, you know — 
with her fare, third class, back to London. And do you 
choose to have the furniture cleaned in the pink dressing- 
room ? It’s like a pigsty at this moment.” 

“ My dear, you manage these things,” replied her 
husband, who was getting sleepy again. “ I don’t think 
I ever saw the upper housemaid — thank goodness none of 
them come in here — and I haven’t set foot in the pink 
dressing-room for thirty years ; whatever you settle I am 
sure to think right.” 

“ Yes, hut you ought to know” she replied ; “ I can’t 
imagine how you spend your time down here. You never 
look into the tradesmen’s bills, nor the house accounts, nor 
anything hut that plan for enlarging Middleton Hospital 
and those rubbishing letters from your agent. Well, I 
suppose, as the song says, ‘ Women must work.’ ” 

“ And men must sleep,” he added good-humouredly, 
though the accusation of idleness was somewhat hard on 
Uncle John, than whom nobody could toil more inde- 
fatigably at county business nor take more trouble to 
promote the welfare of his labourers, tenantry, and 
neighbours. 

“ Hush ! ” exclaimed Aunt Emily, setting down the 
poker with a vigour that brought tongs and fire-shovel 
clanging into the fender. 

“ That’s Mr. Lexley’s foot in the passage. I’ve a deal 
more to say. It will do another time. Mind , I think it 
an excellent plan,” and out she sailed with a gracious 
smile, somewhat thrown away on the visitor, whose pre- 
occupation was very apparent as he came in. 

“ I walked over again to-day,” he began, “ to see you 
about that road-rate ; something has happened since to put 
it all out of my head. Mr. Dennison, I want to speak to 
you on a very serious matter — of course in the strictest 
confidence.” 

“ My dear fellow,” replied Uncle John, “ nothing can be 
a very serious matter when a man is under thirty. But let 
us do one thing at a time. You will find the estimate for 
your road-rate on that writing-table, unless Mrs. Dennison 


110 


UNCLE JOHN 


has swept it into the fire with her dress. Put it in your 
pocket, and take it home. I copied it out on purpose. 
Now, is this a long story you have to tell?” 

Mr. Dennison had the knack of putting people at their 
ease. He entered into their feelings from sheer kindness 
of disposition, and was a living instance of Count d’Orsay’s 
famous maxim that “ A good heart is good manners ready 
made.” 

“ There is much to explain,” said Lexley, brightening. 
“But I will make it as short as I can.” 

“All right,” answered his host, proceeding to light a 
cigar with great deliberation. “ I always listen best when 
I smoke. Now, fire away ! ” 

Then Lexley, with less circumlocution than might have 
been expected from the style of his sermons, informed his 
host how, since he had met a certain lady at the Priors, he 
had formed for himself an ideal of domestic happiness that 
never entered his head before; how he had considered 
the subject in all its bearings as a man and a clergyman ; 
how he had come to the decision that Miss Blair was the 
only woman on earth who could make him happy ; and 
how, not half an hour ago, he had taken the fatal plunge 
and asked her to be his wife. “ It was an anxious moment,” 
he concluded, “ and I own I trembled for her answer.” 

“I never did it but once,” said Uncle John, “ and if I 
remember right, I was in a horrible funk too.” 

“ She is an angel,” exclaimed the clergyman. “ She — 
she accepted me under certain conditions. But first she 
told me the sad history of her life. She’s a widow, Mr. 
Dennison. She has been married before.” 

“ That’s rather an advantage,” observed the other, 
between the whiffs of his cigar. “ She won’t expect you to 
be much better than the rest of mankind, and will be less 
disappointed than a girl.” 

“ She has gone through a deal of trouble,” continued the 
lover, “ and I only pray that I may be able to make up to 
her for the hardships of her past life. Do you know what 
her husband was ? ” 

“ I know a great many things,” answered his host, “ that 
I say nothing about. Her husband was a good-looking 
scamp named Delaney, who began life as a clerk in an 


THE LION'S DEN 


111 


insurance office, turned billiard-marker, blackleg, sharper all 
round, and so set up for a gentleman. In this last capacity 
he robbed Percy Mortimer of seven hundred pounds at a 
sitting in Bio Janeiro. Percy took a great fancy to him, 
and says he is the cleverest scoundrel he ever knew. 
What has become of him?” 

Lexley looked up alarmed. 

“ Isn’t he dead ? He was murdered by pirates some- 
where in the West Indies.” 

“ Then I am sorry piracy is a capital offence. Go on.” 

“ Since his death she has been supporting herself by 
giving music-lessons at eighteen-pence an hour. I cannot 
bear to think of it. Then Mrs. Dennison ” — here Lexley, 
remembering why Mrs. Dennison took a fancy to her, 
blundered somewhat in his narrative — “ Mrs. Dennison, 
who is kindness itself, gave her a home, and her lot has 
been comparatively a bright one since. After such a past, 
Mr. Dennison, do you think she will find it very hard to 
settle down as a country parson’s wife?” 

“Before I answer, let me ask you one question. Are 
you in love with this woman ? I mean really in love as 
people are in a book?” 

“ I would, lay down my life for her this moment. I 
worship the very ground she walks on.” 

“ And you have known her just a fortnight. Truly, my 
dear Lexley, as old Chaucer says, * the wisest clerks are 
not the wisest men.’ ” 

“ I admit that it sounds hasty, boyish, romantic, idiotic, 
if you like,” continued the clergyman ; “but I am not the 
first man, nor shall I be the last, who has shut his eyes 
tight, put his hand in the lucky bag, and drawn out a 
prize. It is at Miss Blair’s own desire that I have come 
to consult you. She will not marry me without your 
consent, your approval, and will abide by your decision as 
to the wisdom of the step for my sake, not her own.” 

Fast and thick came the puffs of Uncle John’s cigar, till 
they hung in clouds about his venerable head. After some 
minutes’ pause he waved them away with his hand, and 
then the oracle spoke out — 

“ Were you asking me for advice as to marriage in the 
abstract, I should say, ‘ My good fellow, wait and see what 


112 


UNCLE JOHN 


turns up. Early marriages are apt to end in disappoint- 
ment that sometimes degenerate into disgust. Later in life 
people expect very little, and have learned to content them- 
selves with less.’ But if you really have set your heart so 
entirely on this particular lady, who, I grant you, is very 
handsome and fascinating, why I suppose you must go 
through the mill — I don’t think anything else will cure 
you, and I congratulate you with all my heart. There is 
but one bit of advice I can give. Don’t start with too 
exalted an idea of your goddess. She must come down 
from her pedestal sometimes. You wouldn’t be so fond of 
her if she wasn’t a ivoman, and being a woman you shouldn’t 
think the worse of her that she has women’s ways and 
women’s weaknesses. When she does not agree with you, 
don’t be provoked with her, because she is your wife ; but 
listen to her courteously, though she is talking nonsense, 
as you would to any other lady. If you can manage her at 
all, it will be through her affections, not through her 
sagacity nor her self-interest ; and, above all, never attempt 
to reason with her as you would with a man ! ” 

“ You are a kind friend, Mr. Dennison,” said the other, 
“ and I thank you from my heart. I will follow your 
advice to the letter.” 

“I am sure you will,” answered Uncle John, “as it 
tallies with your own inclinations. Now you had better go 
and ask the ladies to give you a cup of tea : they can’t 
know you are an engaged man yet, and will be glad to see 
you in the drawing-room.” 

So Lexley, hoping for one more glimpse of his idol, 
traversed a dark passage and a red-baize door into the 
hall, where he paused, felt his whiskers, and shook himself 
together a little before entering the blue drawing-room. 

Since his accident, this apartment had been entirely 
given over to Percy Mortimer. Yet, moved by his piteous 
entreaties, it had come to be an established custom for the 
ladies to assemble there at tea-time. Though the hum of 
laughter and conversation came from within, Lexley felt 
when he opened the door, that to him the blue drawing- 
room was a blank. 

Annie Dennison sat near Mr. Mortimer’s sofa filling the 
cups and talking volubly. Her aunt, knitting in an arm- 


THE LION’S DEN 


113 


chair, seemed in high good-humour. The invalid, lying 
hack on his sofa, looked, as usual, sleek, imperturbable, 
satisfied with the world in general and with Percy Mortimer 
in particular. To Lexley he had never before seemed so 
interesting, for did not somebody’s husband win seven 
hundred of him (however unfairly) at Rio Janeiro ? 

With one despairing glance round the room he satisfied 
himself of her absence. He satisfied himself of something 
else too ! Though he could not have explained why, he 
felt sure that he had been watched — suspected — found out. 

There was a cordiality like that of a mother-in-law in 
Aunt Emily’s welcome. Annie shot at him admiring 
glances of mingled mirth and approval, while Percy 
Mortimer’s manner denoted a degree of interest and even 
commiseration as touching as it was unusual ; were further 
evidence required it was furnished by Aunt Emily’s 
reproving frown when Annie offered the young clergyman 
tea, with this pert observation : 

“ You must want it sadly after your walk. Laura is so 
tired she has sent for hers upstairs.” 

Poor Lexley’s confusion was painfully apparent, and 
Percy Mortimer came to the rescue. As a rule, a man 
dislikes seeing another man subjected to slow torture. 

“ Shall you foot it all the way back? ” said he heartily. 
“ How a fellow envies you who has but one leg to stand on. 
If you’ll make the match I’ll back you to do a thousand 
miles in a thousand hours.” 

How this sporting proposal would have been answered, 
and whether in his agitation the clergyman might not have 
rushed wildly into this or any other wager of a like nature, 
can never now be known, for even while Mortimer spoke the 
tingling of the door-bell vibrated through the house, dogs 
barked, voices were heard in the hall, and an arrival, 
accompanied by a draught of cold air from without, was 
ushered into the drawing-room. 

“ Why it’s Mr. Maxwell ! ” said Aunt Emily. The 
observant ear would have detected in her tone a certain 
austere gratification, as of one whose prophecies, wasted on 
unbelieving ears, had been triumphantly fulfilled. 

“ Why it’s Mr. Maxwell ! ” echoed Annie, and in her 
voice lurked a subdued and tender welcome, not without 

8 


114 


UNCLE JOHN 


something of reproach that seemed to murmur, “ Too late ; 
you ought to have been here yesterday or the day before.” 

“ Why it’s Maxwell ! ” repeated Mortimer, from the 
sofa ; and had the usages of society admitted of his speak- 
ing his sentiments aloud, he would have added, “ I’m 
always pleased to see you, old fellow ; but I should have 
been better pleased if you had stayed away. Why the 
deuce have you come hack now?” 

Why the deuce had he ? It was the question he asked 
himself all the way down in the train, all the way from the 
station in his fly, though he knew the answer quite well, 
and read it besides in Annie’s dark eyes the moment he 
entered the drawing-room. They had haunted him a good 
deal in London during the last ten days, floating about 
over precis and protocols in his office, getting between his 
vision and the queen of trumps at the Turf Club, gazing at 
him through the ranks of dancers and over the heads of 
chaperons on staircases and in ball-rooms, crowded even 
now on the wintry side of Easter ; once, seen as in a dream 
dimmed with such sad and sweet reproach that he rose 
prematurely to go home from a noisy supper-party to which 
he had better never have sat down. He must take one 
more look at them, he told himself, if only to be satisfied 
they were less dangerous in reality than imagination. He 
had been invited to come back to the Priors and have 
another ride on Barmecide. It would seem rude not to go, 
and unkind besides towards Percy, about whom he was 
exceedingly anxious, so he asked his chief for a couple of 
days’ leave, took his railway ticket, telegraphed for a fly, 
and here he was ! Shaking hands with Miss Dennison, he 
felt the dark eyes were deadlier than ever at close quarters, 
and that perhaps he had better have stayed away. 

She seemed to have lost her tongue. Aunt Emily was 
buried in thought, musing indeed on the probability that 
her new housemaid had forgotten to light a fire in Mr. 
Maxwell’s room; Horace, himself, usually so glib and 
debonair, could think of nothing to say, and was really 
grateful to Mortimer for an opportunity of answering the 
established question — 

“Have you brought an evening paper? Is there any 
news in London?” 


THE LION’S DEN 


115 


None whatever, of course. Then out came the usual 
budget. Ministers had a squeak for it last night on the 
Tramways and Traffic Bill ; Lord St. Lukes, commonly 
called “the Silent Friend,” had made a capital speech; 
Miss Myrtle’s marriage was off (this from the best 
authority) ; the foreign horse was safe to win the Two 
Thousand ; the Duke’s interest had failed to carry the 
Buttermouth election, and the Duchess was furious ; a 
Frenchman was advertised to start for America in a 
balloon; and the Quorn had had a good run from John- 
0 ’-Gaunt. He had told them everything, and there was 
the Globe. 

Mortimer made a dash at the paper, and Horace, drawing 
near Miss Dennison, asked after his friend Lexley, as an 
excuse for something to say. 

“ Mr. Lexley ! ” repeated Annie, looking round. “Why 
he was in the room a minute ago. I do think you have 
told us very little news, Mr. Maxwell, considering you were 
so long away. We’re quiet people enough in the country, 
but we don’t altogether go to sleep, even here. I shouldn’t 
wonder if we too had something interesting to communicate 
before this time to-morrow.” 

“Annie, Annie!” exclaimed Aunt Emily, in tones of 
stern reproof; hut Annie, nothing daunted, prattled on : 

“ Don’t you miss anybody, Mr. Maxwell ? Has a week 
of London made you so worldly that you cannot remember 
each individual composing our humble family circle ? Prob- 
ably some new fellow-traveller has put her out of your head, 
but you have never asked after Miss Blair.” 

“I wasn’t thinking of Miss Blair,” said he. “I hope 
she’s quite well.” 

“ She was to-day, at luncheon-time,” replied Annie. 
“ How she will feel to-morrow at breakfast when she has 
been made acquainted with your neglect, I will not take 
upon me to say, unless, indeed, she has found other conso- 
lations, other ” 

“ Annie, it’s time to dress,” interrupted her aunt, rising 
in majestic displeasure. “ Mr. Maxwell, be good enough 
to ring the bell. I’ve put you in your old room, and we 
dine at a quarter before eight.” 

“As the door closed on the ladies, Horace drew to his 


116 


UNCLE JOHN 


friend's sofa. “ How’s the leg, old fellow?” said lie. 
“And what’s all this about our handsome friend, Miss 
Blair ? ” 

Mortimer twisted amongst his cushions while he replied. 

“ I can’t help thinking there’s something up between 
her and the parson, they’ve been for a long walk together 
this afternoon, and Lexley bolted directly you came in.” 


CHAPTER IX 


SOU VENT FEMME VARIE 

Availing himself of his familiarity with its passages and 
back settlements, Lexley had indeed effected his escape 
from the Priors at the moment of his friend’s arrival, seen 
only by a scullery-maid. As he glided past the glowing 
regions of the kitchen into the outer air, that imaginative 
damsel, always on the watch for ghosts, relieved her nerves 
by a little scream, when his tall figure disappeared into 
the night, but he had otherwise no reason to be dissatisfied 
with the skill and secrecy of his retreat. Passing in front 
of the house, he paused to look steadfastly on one of the 
many windows of the upper storey through which lights 
could he seen burning, then with a blessing on his lips and 
a strange wild rapture in his heart, dashed across the park 
on his homeward journey. 

In that room, he told himself, as his long bounding strides 
took him further and further from the shrine of his divinity, 
dwelt the paragon to whom henceforth his whole life should 
be devoted. 

Through that room he pictured her moving to and fro in 
the majesty of a beauty that all the jewels of the East 
would be powerless to enhance, thinking surely of him ! 
However hitter may have been our experience, by whatever 
training our passions have been subdued, the heart will 
judge another’s feelings by its own. She had almost 
promised, nay, subject to Uncle John’s approval, she had 
quite promised, to be his wife ; she must be meditating 
now on that future to which she was pledged, and recalling 
more than kindly the words of him who would give his life 
for one loving look, one bright confiding smile. 


118 


UNCLE JOHN 


“ Perhaps she sees me now,” thought Lexley, walking 
over five miles an hour in his excitement, “ as clearly as I 
see her. Perhaps at this very moment she is telling herself 
that it is worth something to he offered such blind and 
trusting devotion as mine. ‘ You do love me, I think,’ she 
said, in those clear sweet tones that are like music from 
heaven. I do, I do ! My darling, how I wish I could be 
with you this very moment. I believe I should never have 
the heart to leave you again ! ” 

Was she thinking of him ? We can go into Miss Blair’s 
room if we like, and see what she about. 

She has dressed for dinner more carefully than ever, and 
cannot but admit that the result of her toilet is very 
satisfactory and effective. With most women such a con- 
sciousness would afford at least an agreeable sensation, 
but Miss Blair looks in the glass and mutters audibly, 
“ You fool ! how you have thrown yourself away ! ” Then 
she moves the candles to a writing-table, sits carefully 
down so as not to crease her dress, and unlocks a brass- 
hound desk that seems to have seen no little service. 

Out they come, tumbling on the hlotting-book, a dozen 
photographs at least, and she scans them, one after another, 
with a bitter smile, as if in scorn of her admirers no less 
than of herself. To three she accords a grave and sad 
attention. The first is a young handsome man in the 
uniform of the Austrian cavalry. “Poor Ernest!” she 
murmurs, “ I do believe you cared for me. That was a 
foolish duel, too. And how could you expect it would lead 
to anything hut my deciding never to see you again ? It 
was only humanity on my part, for I could not have loved 
you, with that dear silly face ; but you were a kind-hearted 
affectionate boy, and I am sorry I made you so unhappy. 
Yes, I shall keep yours.” 

Then she draws a second from its envelope with real 
concern. This is a stout, uninteresting personage, wearing 
a furred coat, with a foreign order as broad as an insurance 
plate on its breast. There is something coarse and sensual 
about his lips and nostrils, his eyes are heavy, and his 
mouth is large ; but the man looks well-to-do and pros- 
perous, even in a photograph. 

“ Ah ! ” she says, shaking her head mournfully. “ There 


SOUVENT FEMME VARIE 


119 


was the great mistake of my life. But I couldn’t — I 
couldn't — I don’t think I could, even now . And yet what a 
position ! What wealth ! What diamonds ! What carriages 
and horses ! What luxury ! The place in Moldavia was 
fit for an empress. Then, obstinate, pig-headed as you 
were, I could lead you with a thread. Everybody urged 
me to it — even Delaney. The heartless villain ! And 
a divorce is so easy to get in that country. I shall never 
forget the day you asked me, nor the Grand Duchess’s face 
when she sent for you from the Engldnderinn’ s side — the 
Engldnderinn 9 indeed ! How angry she was, and you, 
too, when you came back and found the Grand Duke 
himself had taken your place. You lost your temper then, 
and made your strange and startling proposal. How 
clumsily and ungraciously you did it ! But I ought to 
have accepted. I should have been a great lady now; 
very rich, and very — no, not happy ; very much disgusted, 
I expect. Still, I should have advised any one else to do 
it in my place. I wonder whether I was a good woman to 
say ‘ No,’ or only a great fool ! I scarcely knew which, 
even when I saw you driving that hideous little princess 
about Bucharest ; but she led you the life of a dog, and ran 
away with a Belgian. That’s one comfort. Well, in my 
whole experience of mankind, you were most unlike the 
rest of the world ; and if all my other photographs must he 
swept into the fire, were it only as a matter of curiosity, I 
should keep you." 

So the likeness goes back into its cover, and she draws 
out another, of which the lineaments seem blurred and 
indistinct, for all the scorn has faded from her face, and 
she sees it through a mist of tears. 

“ Oh, my darling — my darling ! ” she whispers, “ if I 
had but met you sooner, how different life would have 
been ! What a dream it is now, that island in the Greek 
sea, and the bench beneath the cedars, and those long 
Italian lessons, with your dark eyes looking into mine. 
Was ever language so sweet, or spoken by so sweet a 
voice ? All women loved you, and no wonder ; but none, 
I think, so well as I did. And I never told you — never. 
But you were sure of it, my own ! Sure as I was that you 
cared for me. Shall I ever forget your look when my 


120 


UNCLE JOHN 


husband, shuffling his cards, with that hateful laugh, said, 
‘Laura, you have a good head, hut no heart.’ You knew 
me better, and trusted me, even as I trusted you. And 
now, to think of that brave, beautiful face sleeping forty 
fathoms deep in the blue Mediterranean ! and I shall never 
see it again ! Oh, Victor ! I wish I was with you there — 
at rest for ever, by your side.” 

Here Miss Blair, breaking down entirely, buries her face 
in her shapely hands, and cries quietly for a few seconds, 
till she remembers that her eyes will be red, and that Mr. 
Maxwell will probably sit opposite to her at dinner. 

She knows, or rather guesses, that he has arrived, 
having already referred more than once to ‘ Bradshaw’s 
Railway Guide ’ in the library, and calculating the hour at 
which the train is due, with the distance by road from the 
station, is satisfied that the hustle she has overheard in the 
hall can only have been created by the expected traveller 
from London. 

So she bathes her eyes in cold water till all trace of tears 
has been removed, and setting aside the three reserved 
photographs, locks them carefully away in her desk. Then, 
sweeping the others together in a heap, puts them all on 
the fire, to be held down with the poker till they are 
consumed. It seems to her that by this holocaust she has 
done full justice to the man who so lately asked her to be his 
wife; and having thus liberated herself, as it were, from 
quarantine, that she is entitled to start on a fresh cruise 
with a clean bill of health and a roving commission once 
more. 

“But I must make up my mind to-night,” she thinks, 
while finally arming herself with fans, gloves, and pocket- 
handkerchief. “ What a fool I am not to have made it up 
this afternoon. Has he not offered me the very thing I 
want ? A home, where I can be safe and at rest. How 
often I have longed for just such a lot as this ! A life of 
peace and quiet and security, with a good man that one wasn’t 
too fond of, to provide for and take care of one. There is 
no fear of my being too fond of Mr. Lexley, and yet I like 
him well enough in a cold, rational way. After all, he is 
by no means ugly when he gets excited ; and there is 
something very manly in his voice and bearing when called 


SOUVENT FEMME VABIE 


121 


upon to exert himself that makes me feel I could trust him, 
and perhaps after a time get as fond of him as my nature 
will allow. We should live down here, I suppose, in a 
pretty little house with roses at the windows, and I would 
drive a basket carriage about amongst his poor people, 
order his dinner, mend his gloves, look after his comforts, 
and make my husband thoroughly happy. My husband ! 
How odd to associate that word with anything hut a 
shudder of fear, contempt, and disgust. He certainly cares 
for me horribly ! Quite as much as any of the others did. 
And I — oh ! I must have something to love. I am so 
lonely; and when my pride breaks down, I feel as if I 
should like to die. He would be very good to me, I think, 
very gentle and forbearing. I should tell him everything — 
everything — my whole history from beginning to end. I 
am glad I was so honest to-day ; it will make it all the 
easier. And he will put his strong arm round me and call 
me 4 Laura,’ as Victor did. Oh ! why has this man come 
hack from London to spoil it all? and why has he got 
that haunting pleading look of Victor in his eyes ? ” 

Who would have thought the beautiful woman who 
swept into the drawing-room five minutes afterwards, cold 
as marble and stately as a queen, could have hidden all 
these passions, feelings, and memories beneath that calm, 
courteous manner — that gracious, dignified hearing ? And 
was it not as well that Lexley, halfway home by this time, 
had been debarred by the laws of material nature from 
assisting at a toilet that could call forth so many painful 
and conflicting emotions ? 

It was worthy of remark, that even Aunt Emily, whose 
want of tact was proverbial, did not congratulate Miss Blair 
on the result of her afternoon’s expedition, though satisfied 
that her own anticipations had certainly been realised. 
Nor did Annie Dennison venture on any more direct 
impertinence than a hope “ Miss Blair's walk had not 
tired her too much to play to-night, even for so small an 
audience.” But Uncle John, who took her in to dinner, 
gave her arm just such a gentle pressure as assured her of 
his secrecy and support, whatever course she might think 
proper to pursue. 

“How kind you always are!” she whispered; and, 


122 


UNCLE JOHN 


strange to say, could not trust her voice to add another 
syllable. 

It was but a small party, very different from that which 
had gathered round the same table the night before the 
memorable run from Plumpton Osiers. Horace Maxwell 
sat by the side of Annie, and opposite Miss Blair. The 
former was silent and preoccupied, Horace thought, like 
a fool, she had left her heart on the invalid’s sofa in the 
next room. Miss Blair never talked much, but she asked 
him a few questions across the table, for the pleasure of 
meeting his glance when he replied. The dark eyes 
reminded her more than ever of poor Victor ; and the 
difficulty of making up her mind for to-morrow only in- 
creased as the evening wore on. 

Matters were still worse when coffee was brought into 
the drawing-room. Aunt Emily, who wrote her letters at 
all sorts of inconvenient hours, was scribbling assiduously 
in her own corner ; Annie, with the awkwardness of inex- 
perience, had got wedged into a chair behind Mortimer’s 
sofa, from which she dared not extricate herself under 
Maxwell’s eye, lest he should think she wanted to he near 
him — an idea that would have made him supremely happy, 
as perhaps she suspected ; and yet wishing heartily to do this 
very thing, she would rather have put her hand in the fire 
than have done it. Uncle John had wrapped himself in 
the folds of a county paper. Miss Blair and Maxwell 
were fairly thrown on their own resources for companionship 
and amusement. 

He proposed a game at billiards in the next room, 
chiefly, I am hound to say, out of pique, and watching Miss 
Dennison the while. Annie neither lifted her eyes nor 
turned her head ; and Horace stalked off to the billiard 
table, smothering in a careless laugh certain twinges of 
jealousy caused by the young lady’s untiring devotion to 
her patient. No sooner were the billiard players out of 
hearing, however, than she relieved her mind by an audible 
“ Well, I do think ! ” which caused Uncle John to look up 
from his newspaper, and Percy Mortimer to laugh. 

Miss Blair was not very expert with a cue. Bestless 
Horace soon wished himself back again, but he had brought 
her here, and was bound to play out the game. 


SOUVENT FEMME VABIE 


123 


She strung to begin — won, and put her hall in balk. 

“ Is not Mr. Lexley a great friend of yours?” she 
asked, while Horace, with brilliant execution, attempted an 
impossible stroke — and failed. 

4 4 Very,” he replied carelessly. 44 Best fellow in the 
world, Lexley. We were boys together. Why isn’t he 
here ?” 

44 Don’t you know? Now tell me the truth, Mr. 
Maxwell. Don’t you really know ? — (Can I make a cannon 
off the red ?) — I am glad he is a friend of yours. I’ve a 
great mind to tell you something.” 

44 Do,” said Horace, who thought he heard a move in 
the next room, and fixed his attention with difficulty on 
the matter in hand. 44 I’m dying to know everything.” 

44 1 like him to have nice friends. That is the reason. 
Now can’t you guess ? ” 

He looked up, suddenly enlightened. 44 Do you mean 
that he’s going to be married, Miss Blair? Dear old 
fellow ! I wish him joy with all my heart.” 

He not you. Then it was the friend who at once 
excited his interest, not the woman thus removed for ever 
out of reach. The frank and hearty tone declared his 
sentiment too clearly. She could have struck him with 
her cue. 

44 And won’t you wish me joy, Mr. Maxwell?” she 
asked, making an egregious miss that left a powdering of 
chalk on the cloth. 44 Am I to count for nothing in an 
arrangement, which at least could not well take place 
without my consent?” 

44 Certainly not,” replied Horace, with the readiness of 
a man of the world towards a woman whom he does not 
love. 44 1 congratulate my friend because he has drawn a 
prize. I do not congratulate you, because you could marry 
anybody you choose. Only I think you have made a good 
choice.” 

She swept him a scornful curtsey, passing round the 
table for her next stroke, and though she looked very proud 
and handsome whilst she played it, Horace could not 
repress a little shudder of commiseration, and a hope that 
his friend Lexley had not got a handful. 

44 It’s quite true,” she resumed. — 44 How badly I’m 


124 


UNCLE JOHN 


playing to-night ! — Everybody will know all about it to- 
morrow, so I tell you of it in confidence now. Mr. Lexley 
this afternoon did me the great honour of asking me to be 
his wife.” 

He was sprawling over the table for a losing hazard, and 
she watched him narrowly while she spoke. Not a quiver 
of lip or eyelid betrayed the slightest emotion, nor did his 
cue deviate one hair’s-breadth from its aim. 

“ That’s five,” said he, taking the balls out of their 
respective pockets and playing again, before he reverted to 
the previous question. “He’s a plucky fellow, Lexley; 
and nobody could wish him more success than I do.” 

“ Did it require such courage, then?” she asked, with 
one of her smiles. “ Should you — I mean should any man, 
hesitate on the brink, when a bold plunge lets him know at 
once whether he is to sink or swim ? If people won’t ask, 
how are other people to guess what they want ? I have 
told you Mr. Lexley did ask. I haven’t told you whether 
other people accepted him.” 

This was the crucial test — now or never. Surely if he 
cared for her the cue would he dropped, and the player, 
metaphorically if not literally, at her feet. She watched 
him narrowly, and thinking it all over afterwards, could not 
but admit there was something of relief mingled with her 
disappointment when feeling quietly under the table for 
chalk, he observed, with as little discomposure as if she 
been his grandmother : 

“ But you will f Miss Blair. He’s a dear, good fellow. 
He’d make a capital husband, and it knocks a man out of 
time altogether to be thrown over in a thing of this kind.” 

“You speak feelingly, Mr. Maxwell,” she answered, 
with admirable self-possession. “Has it ever happened 
to yourself?” 

“Often,” he said; “and I don’t like it at all. It 
seems to be my fate to originate ‘ rejected addresses.’ I 
have made up my mind never to try again till I am quite 
sure.” 

But though he laughed his heart was aching, because 
of the dark eyes in the next room, belonging to the only 
woman he had ever seen, whom he wished in real earnest 
to make his wife. 


SO WENT FEMME VAB1E 


125 


She played her last card now, quietly and deliberately, 
like a true gambler. 

“And if you were quite sure,” she said, bending over 
the table to hide a blush, “ would that encourage you to 
begin, or would the lady have to tell it you herself in so 
many words ? ” 

Even now he could not, or would not, understand. Her 
whole future as the clergyman’s wife seemed to shape itself 
definitely, while he struck the butt-end of his cue on the 
floor, and exclaimed, in that frank tone of friendship no 
woman ever mistakes for love : 

“Miss Blair, you’re a witch ! You have found me out, 
I do believe. Listen, now. Confidence for confidence. 
Do you remember that day at dinner, when you were kind 
enough to show such perfect faith in my honour and 
discretion ? ” 

“ I trusted you implictly then, just as I trust you now,” 
she answered, and at that moment the door opened to 
admit the graceful head of Miss Dennison, who had been 
despatched by her aunt to know if she should send the 
billiard-players some tea. 

“ Oh, I beg your pardon,” said Annie, stung by the last 
sentence, which she overheard, and on which she put her own 
construction, while she affected to withdraw, as if unwilling 
to break in on a lover’s tete-a-tete. 

“ It was only to tell you tea is ready. Never mind; I 
dare say you are amusing yourselves very pleasantly here.” 

“ Don’t go, Miss Dennison,” gasped Horace, wishing his 
handsome antagonist at the bottom of the sea. 

But Annie was hurt and implacable. “ I hate being in 
the way,” said she with a little forced laugh and a quiver 
of her lip. “ I don’t care much for billiards myself. Please 
go on and don’t mind me.” 

But Miss Blair was already in the drawing-room. “ I 
shall not play any more,” said she, passing haughtily 
through the doorway. “Mr. Maxwell has beaten me a 
love -game ! ” 


CHAPTER X 


FOL QUI S’Y FIE 

Maxwell had better have stayed away. He felt this in 
spite of his host’s hospitable welcome, reiterated when they 
found themselves together in the smoking-room, where Uncle 
John loved to betake himself if the ladies did not go to bed 
too late. In spite of Aunt Emily’s gracious reception, of 
his friend’s improving health, of Miss Blair’s unconcealed 
partiality, nay, of Annie Dennison’s dark, soft, shining eyes 
— even the temptation of another mount on Barmecide 
failed to satisfy him that he had been wise in coming down 
so readily from London. 

“ I wish there was any hunting for you to-morrow,” said 
his host, while they arranged themselves comfortably over a 
blazing fire. “ But it’s not Foster’s day, and the Duke is 
too far off — three-and-twenty miles at least, and a bad 
place when you get there. However, you’ll be in the 
Middleton country the day after. I hope you may have 
as good a run as last time, and that Barmecide won’t put 
you down again. To-morrow is my day for Petty Sessions 
too, so you must make it out with the ladies as well as you 
can. You fellows at the Foreign Office are great in that 
line, I know.” 

“What is your honest opinion, Mr. Dennison?” asked 
Horace, stretching himself luxuriously in the warmth. 
“ Don’t you think, altogether, women are rather a 
mistake ? ” 

“How should we get on without them?” said Uncle 
John, smoking meditatively. “ They certainly do prevent 
our sitting too long after dinner, and in married life no 
doubt they make one get up in the morning. No, I 


FOL QUI S’Y FIE 


127 


shouldn't say they were a mistake, though on certain 
points they would bear modification.” 

‘‘All the jolliest fellows I know are bachelors,” affirmed 
Horace, who at that moment desired hut one thing on earth 
— the privilege of surrendering his liberty to the woman he 
was angry with, because he loved her. 

“I doubt it,” said Uncle John. “I have often con- 
sidered the subject, and always arrived at the opposite 
conclusion. A bachelor does what he likes, and though it 
sounds a paradox, no man who does what he likes is really 
happy.” 

“ And yet if you reflect upon it,” argued Horace, “ two- 
thirds of the sorrows and half the discomforts of life origi- 
nate with woman. You see a young fellow going to the 
bad, taking to play, or brandy-and-water ; ten to one there 
is a woman in the case. He has been thrown over, and 
revenges himself on himself ; or he has failed to awaken an 
interest, and thinks with some justice, that the bigger fool 
he makes of himself, the better she will like him. You 
observe a jolly, cheerful old gentleman grows suddenly 
crusty, contradictory, and cantankerous. If you take the 
trouble to inquire, you will probably find that his wife is 
going to make him do something he cordially hates, with a 
sublime disregard for her husband’s comfort, as compared 
with her duties to society and position before the world. I 
declare I think if there were no women, we should he 
supremely happy, as there is no doubt we should he ex- 
ceedingly good.” 

“We should be exceedingly selfish,” replied his host ; 
“ a failing there is no fear a man will acquire whose lot is 
cast with the opposite sex. They take care of that. In all 
the trifles of life they consult their own wishes and con- 
venience, irrespective of time, weather, argument, objection, 
natural obstacles, and physical impossibilities ; hut I am 
bound to say that when you put them on their mettle and 
demand of them a great sacrifice, they are far more ready to 
offer it than you can be to accept.” 

“ Only one’s life is not made up of great sacrifices,” 
argued Maxwell. “And every-day comfort has much more 
to do with happiness than occasional self-denial. Nothing 
can repay a fellow for having to put on a pair of tight boots 
every time he gets out of bed.” 


128 


UNCLE JOHN 


Uncle John, who knew where his own shoe pinched, could 
not hut admit the force of this illustration. He stuck to his 
position, nevertheless. 

“ A world without women,” he replied, “ or perhaps I 
should say a state of society from which the female 
element was practically excluded, would be wanting in 
the very essence of government, the principle of self- 
restraint. 

“ ‘ The greatest good for the greatest number,’ is a 
moral law that such a society could never he made to 
understand; the religion of Mahomet has attempted to 
establish something of the kind, but that is no argument 
one way or the other, for, in common with his Oriental 
brethren of all creeds, the Mussulman has completely 
failed to bring his womankind into subjection, and a 
Turkish gentleman of wealth and position, is as fine a 
specimen of the henpecked husband as you will find in any 
country on earth. I remember, in my coaching days, we 
tried to persuade ourselves it was easier to drive four horses 
than one. The Turk has adapted this fallacy to his domestic 
life, and found, I believe, no sort of difference in the result. 
If one of his wives only puts her slippers outside the door, 
he no more dare go into the room, than I dare tell Mrs. 
Dennison she ought not to wear the same dresses now she 
did thirty years ago. No ; in the saddle the Turk is above 
admiration ; in the harem — which answers to his wife’s 
boudoir — below contempt.” 

“ He has always the Bosphorus to fall back upon,” said 
Horace, lighting a fresh cigar. 

“ That’s where they beat us ! ” exclaimed Uncle John. 
“ Every man has a remedy in his own hands, quite as 
efficacious as the sack and the sea ; but who has the heart 
to apply it ? To the husband who could punish, judicially, 
coldly, and without remorse, they will never give offence. 
But happily such are rare exceptions among mankind. 
From good-nature, indolence, and a dread of being talked 
about, husbands are wonderfully placable, even under 
strong provocation, and women show the ingenuity of their 
sex in nothing more than the skill with which they prove 
the elasticity of a masculine temper, by trying it to the very 
utmost limit that can be borne without giving way. Of all 


FOL QUI S'Y FIE 


129 


dangerous amusements, I know none so completely to their 
taste as skating on thin ice.” 

4 ‘And when it lets them in, with a souse,” said Horace, 
“ not one of their own sex will wet a finger to pull them out. 
It makes one shy of putting oneself in a woman’s power, to 
see how she treats another woman, of whom she has the 
upper hand. You may be sure, if she gets her down, she 
will keep her down.” 

“There I take leave to differ,” observed his host. 
“ Neither you, nor I, nor any one else, can be sure of 
what she will or will not do. "We have no data from 
which to argue. I grant that, as a general rule, they 
seem very hard on each other ; but take any general rule 
of their conduct as your guide for a particular instance, 
and see where it will lead you.” 

“ Then you come hack to where I started,” said Horace. 

“ Women are a mistake, and a wise man will keep clear 
of the whole difficulty by remaining a bachelor.” 

“ I know a good many bachelors who are anything but 
clear of the whole difficulty,” answered the other. “ Indeed, 
I am not sure but that bachelors are more apt to be under 
the yoke than married men, on the principle, I suppose, that 
a volunteer is often keener than a regular soldier. No ; 
there is an old adage which affirms a self-evident truth, 
that ‘ when two people ride on a horse, one must ride 
behind.’ In that sentence is condensed the whole science 
of domestic government.” 

“And suppose she won't ride behind,” said Horace, 
opening a bottle of soda-water. 

“ You can’t change places at a gallop,” answered Uncle 
John. “ Jump on first, and keep the horse going so fast, 
that she has enough to do by winding her arms round your 
waist not to fall off into the mire. What I mean, in plain 
English, is this : take the initiative on every question of 
importance, as a matter of course. Leave to a wife so 
much of its details, that she has no leisure to dispute your 
plan. It is hopeless to make her understand a theory, but 
in practice she is more than your equal. Occupation is 
the one panacea for nervous temperaments — witness, the 
feminine tendency to needle-work. An idle woman is 
invariably a discontented one, and a wife’s discontent 


130 


UNCLE JOHN 


from whatever cause it springs, she attributes to her 
husband’s fault. There are very few ladies who would be 
ill, and fewer still who would be cross, if they got up at 
six every morning to black the grates ! ” 

“ I should hate them with dirty hands, too,” laughed 
Horace, thinking, it must be confessed, of Annie Den- 
nison’s taper fingers and rosy little palms. “ After all, 
I am not sure that it isn’t a woman’s first duty to be good- 
looking, even if she is good-for-nothing.” 

“You don’t think so,” replied his host. “ Men say these 
things, but each has a pattern treasured up in his own heart 
that is good, good-looking, devoted to himself, and altogether 
an impossible piece of perfection. He seeks it all his life, 
and in every out-of-the-way corner. He will marry over 
and over again without finding it, yet never despair of its 
existence. What do you suppose is the moral of Blue 
Beard? ” 

“ I never knew he had a moral,” answered Horace. “ I 
have always considered him a man of extraordinary enter- 
prise, classing him with the people who discover new 
continents, and want to know where the Nile comes from. 
If it’s not an immoral moral, I don’t mind hearing it.” 

“The moral of Blue Beard, I take it, is this,” observed 
Uncle John with perfect gravity ; “ that one wife is just as 
tiresome as another wife ; that you may change over and 
over again without the faintest improvement, and that a 
wise man will stick to his first venture as the Prayer Book 
enjoins, ‘ for better or worse.’ ” 

“ Then you are an advocate for matrimony after all ! ” 
exclaimed Horace, throwing his cigar in the grate. 

“ Under considerable restrictions, yes,” replied his host. 
“If it is taken in hand like any other matter of business, 
with common caution, I do not myself see why in the 
average of cases it should not turn out fairly well. But if 
a man is to shut both eyes tight, and then dash headlong 
into one of the most delicate and difficult negotiations of 
life, I cannot understand upon what principle he expects 
everything to turn out in his favour, nor wdiat right he has 
to blame anything but his own folly when he finds himself 
in a mess from which there is no extrication. If you buy a 
farm, you have it surveyed by a responsible land agent — a 


FOL QUI S'Y F1F 


181 


yacht, you take care that it shall be examined by somebody 
who understands yachts — a horse, he must he passed by a 
veterinary surgeon before he goes into your stable. You 
don’t engage a cook without satisfactory references, and you 
grudge no trouble to become acquainted with the antecedents, 
temper, and disposition of a governess for your children. But 
when it is a question of a wife for yourself, you take no pains, 
you make no inquiries ; you get a ticket, at the merest hap- 
hazard, for a lottery in which there are confessedly a super- 
fluity of blanks, and think yourself entitled to complain for 
the rest of your life that you haven’t drawn a prize.” 

“ Women run the same risk,” said Horace. “ That’s a 
comfort at any rate. It’s as fair for one as the other.” 

“I’m not clear that they do run the same risk,” replied 
Uncle John. “ They are far keener-sighted than ourselves. 
They tell each other many secrets about men that we 
should be surprised to find them acquainted with, and each 
knows exactly how far to trust her informant. In the 
London world I am disposed to believe the chaperons have 
an organised system of police, with a secret-intelligence 
department attached ; hut you ought to know more of these 
things than I do. That is not the question at present. 
You asked me if I considered women a mistake, I answer, 
No. A necessary evil, perhaps, like one’s liver and one’s 
conscience. But a mistake — certainly not.” 

“I am glad to hear it,” answered Horace, laughing, 
“ and I value your opinion very much, Mr. Dennison, for I 
am sure you have had a great deal of experience.” 

In Uncle John’s grim smile there lurked a sad affirma- 
tive. Bising from his easy-chair he placed himself with his 
back to the fire, as if about to commence an oration, but 
seemed to think better of it, and lit his candle instead. 

“Experience does not make fools wise,” said he. “Most 
proverbs are fallacious. None greater than that which 
says it does. Good-night, Maxwell. I hope your room is 
comfortable. Breakfast as usual — a liberal half-past 
nine.” 

The guest was familiar enough with the ways of the 
house to know that a “liberal half-past nine,” meant a 
punctual ten o’clock, and determined that for once in his 
life he would be in time. Amongst certain manly qualities 


132 


UNCLE JOHN 


he believed he possessed, there was none on which Horace 
prided himself more than decision of character. 

“ Other fellows,” he would say, “ half the men we know, 
go talking a thing backwards and forwards till they lose the 
real bearings of the case. They swing the ship to verify 
her compasses till they don’t know north from south, and 
whether they are standing on their heads or their heels. 
Even if they see an opening they make for it too late, 
perhaps turn back to look for another, and only come to a 
decision in time to find both closed. That’s not my way. 
I may do wrong, but I do it at once. I make up my mind, 
and go in without hesitating for a win. If I fail, better 
luck next time ; but at least, I never shrink from a shy for 
fear of losing my stick ! ” 

With such sentiments it is perhaps unnecessary to observe 
that Mr. Maxwell found himself in a very uncomfortable 
and vacillating state of mind when he dressed for his “ liberal 
half-past nine” o’clock breakfast at Plumpton Priors. 
Had his hand been no steadier than his intentions, he must 
have cut himself repeatedly while shaving, and his letters 
from London only served to render him more uncertain as 
to the course he should pursue. A large official envelope 
contained a communication from the Foreign Office, that 
would afford an excellent pretext for returning by the mid- 
day train ; but his diplomatic experience also informed 
him it might stand over unnoticed for the next two days 
without the slightest detriment to the interests of Her 
Majesty. If he had been really obliged to curtail his visit 
at short notice, he would have grumbled loudly no doubt, 
while acknowledging, nevertheless, a certain sensation of 
relief; whereas, had there been no post at all, he could 
have waited, as a matter of course, without any feeling of 
shame, to see what turn his affairs might take. Now he 
had it in his power to do exactly as he pleased, and what 
to do, for the life of him, he could not decide. It was 
evident that Annie Dennison had imbibed a strong interest 
in his friend, even if her affections were not already 
inextricably involved. At the same time he could not but 
be conscious that in her manner to himself there lurked a 
something that was as far removed from indifference as it 
was indeed from common politeness ; a something of shy- 


FOL QUI S’Y FIE 


133 


ness and irritation that was equivalent to dislike, and yet 
not the same as dislike either. 

Our man of action came down to breakfast at five minutes 
before ten, more puzzled than he had ever been in his life. 

He found two servants waiting, and no one else in the 
room. 

“ Anybody breakfasted?” he asked the butler, who 
offered him grill. 

“Nobody but Miss Dennison, sir,” answered that official. 
“Mr. Mortimer takes breakfast in the blue drawing-room, 
and Miss Dennison got hers early and is gone to make tea 
for him.” 

“ No grill, thank you ! ” thundered Horace in accents 
which startled the demure footman who attended on the 
butler with hot plates. 

“ Tea?” 

“No.” 

“Coffee?” 

“ Either — neither — that’ll do. I say, tell my servant 
I shall be obliged to leave by the 12.10 train. He must 
order a fly from the village at once. If Mr. Dennison does 
not come down before I start, make my compliments. Say 
I have been sent for back to London, and will write by 
to-night’s post.” 

Then Horace finished his breakfast in a violent hurry, 
and found he did not know what to do with the time he 
had to spare. 

He went back to his bed-room. His servant was 
packing, in a thorough draught, with the new house-maid, 
who had thrown doors and windows open, and obviously 
been “ making hay ” in the room, on her knees at the 
fire-place. He sought the library, and wondered how it 
could look so cheerless and uncomfortable. The blue 
drawing-room he resolved not to approach. Of course he 
found his grasp on the handle of the door. It would seem 
so unkind to go away without wishing Percy Mortimer 
good-bye. 

With such loyal sentiments in the ascendant, it was 
strange he should have felt so keen a thrill of disappoint- 
ment to discover that gentleman alone. 

“Holloa, Maxwell!” exclaimed his friend, who, with the 


184 


UNCLE JOHN 


remains of a choice little breakfast on a spider-legged table 
drawn to his sofa, looked the picture of comfort, “why out 
of bed in the middle of the night ? I thought when there 
was no hunting you never came down till luncheon.” 

“ Obliged to go back to the mill,” replied Maxwell, with 
a preoccupied air, and ears on the alert for the rustle of a 
dress. “ Letter from the F. 0. just arrived. Ought never 
to have come away.” 

“ I always thought our foreign policy fatuous in the 
extreme,” observed his friend ; “but it must be very shaky 
indeed if it can’t stand alone without your assistance for 
twenty-four hours. What’s happened ? Is Prester John 
coming over for the Derby? Hang it, Horace, you’ll have 
to take him to Cremorne ! ” 

“ I didn’t come to chaff,” answered Maxwell, rather 
sulkily. “ I came to wish you good-bye, and to ask if 
I could do anything for you in London ? ” 

“ Yes, you can, fifty things,” said the invalid. “ In the 
first place I want some more books from Hookham’s. I’ll 
make you out a list in five seconds. Then I must have a 
pair of crutches sent down, and tell the fellow not to pad 
them too much under the arms. And, let me see, when 
you are in Pall Mall, you wouldn’t mind calling at my 
lodgings and telling the people. You’re not listening, old 
fellow. What is it?” 

Maxwell’s attention was obviously engrossed elsewhere. 
He could see what Mortimer could not see — Annie Denni- 
son’s hat bobbing up and down amongst the cedars 
outside. 

“All right,” he answered; “I won’t forget. You shall 
have the padded books, and the new crutches, and every- 
thing down by to-morrow’s post. Good-bye, old fellow, I 
mustn’t stay another minute. I shall be late for my train.” 

In half-a-dozen steps he was out of the house and along- 
side of Annie on the terrace walk, beneath the cedars. 

“Going, Mr. Maxwell?” said that young lady, with 
provoking good humour, as he proffered rather an incoherent 
adieu. “ You have paid us a very shabby visit this time.” 

He muttered something about business — public office — 
press of work — man’s time not his own — ending by a 
marked, “ wanted there at any rate ! ” 


FOL QUI S'Y FIE 


135 


“Meaning to imply you’re not wanted here” said Annie, 
with some temper. “ If you think so you’re quite right to 
go.” 

“Am I?” he asked humbly, and in rather quavering 
accents. 

“ You know best,” replied Miss Annie. “ I can only 
say we shall all be disappointed at losing you so soon. We 
hoped you would have stayed till Mr. Mortimer was off the 
sofa.” 

“Mr. Mortimer — always Mr. Mortimer,” thought Horace. 
“I wish I had broken my leg instead of Percy. Perhaps 
it would have been Mr. Maxwell then. Well, there’s 
nothing for it now but to be off. Here’s the fly packed 
and everything. Good-bye, Miss Dennison,” he added, in 
an audible voice, and proffering his hand. 

“Good-bye,” she repeated, giving him her own, ungloved. 

He held it just long enough to convey something more 
than conventional civility in the expression of his hope that 
they might meet in London. 

She could afford to laugh, for she knew she was winning. 

“ People cannot help meeting in London,” she answered 
gaily : adding, as she disappeared into the house, “ I hope 
you don’t run away from your friends in London as you do 
in the country ! ” 

He couldn’t make her out. All the way to the station 
the girl puzzled him, and so puzzling him wove the fatal 
web, with its imperceptible meshes, closer and closer about 
his heart. 


CHAPTEE XI 


A PEARL OF PRICE 

“ Well, I’m sure ! One would suppose you were a young 
girl, my dear, waiting for a lover. That’s the fourth time 
you’ve fidgeted to the window. And I think you teach your 
husband very bad manners, bringing his slippers into the 
drawing-room, as if you were going to pull his boots off 
yourself.” 

The speaker was Mrs. Dennison, sitting severe and grim 
under a stupendous hat plumed like a hearse, in a pretty 
little chamber, half study, half boudoir, opening on a garden 
of roses and looking over such a vale of smiling pasture, rich 
cornland, wood, water, and double hedgerows, as could only 
be seen in the very heart of merry England. 

The lady thus rebuked turned a handsome happy face on 
her visitor and answered with a smile : 

“I can’t spoil him enough, Emily. If you only knew 
how good and kind he is ! I feel like some draggled old 
ship that has been tossed and torn and buffeted, and got 
safe into harbour at last.” 

Mrs. Algernon Lexley (late Miss Blair) certainly looked 
neither torn nor draggled nor buffeted. Her commanding 
beauty seemed only enhanced by the unfailing cosmetics 
of early hours, tranquillity, and good health. She was 
more careful too than ever in her dress and appointments, 
which, without extravagance, were in style if not in fabric 
those of a great lady rather than of a country pastor’s wife. 
With all her pride, Laura was enough of a coquette to know 
how such details set off the charms of a handsome woman 
in her own home, and she had determined that the man 
who so worshipped her, who had married her so purely and 

136 


A PEARL OF PRICE 


137 


entirely for love, should never, while she could prevent it, 
be subject to that first disillusion which wakens the dreamer, 
and is too surely “ the beginning of the end.” 

Hitherto the parson’s wife was a success. At the flower 
show, at the races, at croquet parties, cricket matches, and 
such festive gatherings, the county magnates never tired of 
asking each other, “But have you seen Mrs. Lexley?” 
And those who had seen Mrs. Lexley were loud in their 
praises of her eyes, her hair, her figure, her walk, and 
everything that was hers. The young squires felt flattered 
by her cold, stately recognition ; their elders compared her 
to the Empress of the French, Mary Queen of Scots — all 
the celebrated beauties they had never set eyes on ; and the 
Lord Lieutenant himself, an old reprobate with one foot in 
the grave, affirmed (on oath) she was the only woman in 
the county who knew how to wear a shawl — and here he 
spoke loud enough to be overheard — or who had more 
manners than one of his own dairymaids. 

And when the buzz of admiration was at its highest — 
when this gentleman held her parasol, another her gloves, 
and the representative of the Sovereign proffered a feeble arm 
to help her into her basket-carriage — she would beckon to her 
husband with that rare smile of hers and turn on him the 
light of her deep grey eyes with a look that assured him she 
cared for nobody’s homage hut his, and that her drive home 
with him in the little basket-carriage was worth all the 
gaieties and triumphs of the day. She delighted him 
beyond measure on one occasion, when, returning from an 
archery meeting through deep leafy lanes in the balmy 
summer’s evening, she broke a silence that had lasted for 
a mile with the following complimentary remark : 

“ I really think, dear, that next to you I like Peter better 
than anybody in the world.” 

Peter was a wilful grey pony, in shape resembling a pig, 
of considerable trotting ability, then plodding merrily home 
under Laura’s guidance. Algernon Lexley, looking on its 
broad grey hack, felt his eyes fill with tears as he thanked 
the heaven that had given him this peerless woman for his 
very own, and wondered what he had ever done to deserve 
to he so happy. 

He could scarcely believe sometimes that his life of 


138 


UNCLE JOHN 


intense unbroken enjoyment was anything but a dream, 
from which he dreaded to awake. Every day as it passed 
steeped him deeper and deeper in that engrossing devotion 
which is not love but idolatry, and convinced him more and 
more that before he discovered this paragon his existence 
must have been a blank, as without her it would be a 
torture. From the hour in which she consented to marry him, 
Laura Blair had turned all the resources of her mind, all 
the attractions of her person, to the one object of making 
her husband madly in love with her ; and the tall parson, 
with his university education and simple clerical habits, 
was utterly helpless in such hands as hers. His experience 
of the other sex had been limited as yet to a couple of 
his own ungainly sisters, to the dean’s daughters — aged 
respectively forty-seven and forty-five — to the doctor’s wife 
at Middleton, to half-a-dozen red-cheeked damsels of the 
clothing-club pattern, and to pretty Miss Dennison, at 
whose feet, indeed, he had been quite prepared to fall ; 
but of a real skilful, well-dressed, practised woman of the 
world he knew no more than he did of an Indian squaw 
or a Parisian lorette. The grand manner, the gracious 
gestures, the cool fresh toilette, the calm, severe beauty 
that dominated alike senses, intellect, and heart; the 
trenchant remarks on friends and neighbours, sarcastic if 
not scornful ; the implied approval of himself never openly 
expressed, and withheld just long enough to be ardently 
desired and exquisitely prized ; even the mere details of 
dress and ornament ; all combined to bring him into that 
state of slavish subserviency at which a man feels how the 
greatest folly is perfectly compatible with the greatest 
happiness. 

And now Mrs. Dennison, having driven over to pay one 
of those morning visits in which she delighted, while com- 
plaining vehemently that such taxes on time and trouble 
should be levied by the usages of society, sat in her friend’s 
drawing-room, and in her usual outspoken manner took that 
friend seriously to task for the indulgence she lavished on 
her husband. 

“Safe into harbour!” she repeated with something of 
scorn. “ Safe enough, no doubt, though I don’t see that 
you were in any peril before. And as for the harbour, there’s 


A PEABL OF PBICE 


139 


not much amiss with that either. This is a pretty room, 
though I can’t admire your chintz ; and the house is good 
enough when the chimneys don’t smoke. Ah, my dear, 
you haven’t spent a winter here yet ! The wind comes up 
that valley fit to cut you in two. Still, Laura, you have 
done very fairly in my opinion, and you’ve got me to thank 
for it.” 

It is possible that Mrs. Lexley, catching a glimpse of her 
own handsome person in an opposite mirror, may have 
thought that the rich hair, the deep eyes, and the clear, 
fair face, rather than any exertions of her former patroness, 
were what she had to “thank for it ; ” hut she answered, 
with perfect good-humour — 

“It’s all far better than I deserve. I never could have 
believed, Emily, while I was drudging away at those music 
lessons in London, that I should one day receive you in my 
own house — and such a nice house as this. That reminds 
me I haven’t rung for tea ; I generally wait till Mr. Lexley 
comes in. I can’t think what makes him so late.” 

She called him Mr. Lexley, never Algernon, to other 
people, and only on rare occasions to himself. All creatures 
are best tamed by being kept hungry. Sometimes, once 
in a week or so, when she whispered “Algy” in his ear, 
the man’s strong frame fairly shivered with delight. 

“ That’s very absurd,” replied practical Mrs. Dennison. 
“ In a small establishment like yours you should never wait 
for anybody. How can you make servants punctual if you 
don’t set them the example ? And now, Lama, tell me the 
truth. Are you as happy as you expected ? ” 

Mrs. Lexley stole another glance at the mirror. “I 
think you need only look at me,” she said, “ for an answer 
to that question.” 

“ Looks count for nothing,” answered her friend. “ You 
happen to have a fair skin, and a woman with a fair skin 
might he at death’s door, and nobody a hit the wiser, as 
far as her looks go. I suppose you are tolerably happy, 
though — at least, for the present — and have got what you 
want ?” 

“ I have indeed got what I want, Emily,” said the other 
in a low earnest voice ; “ what I longed for with a longing 
it is hardly possible for you to conceive.” 


140 


UNCLE JOHN 


“ I thought you had more sense,” exclaimed Mrs. 
Dennison impatiently. “ Really, Laura, you might know 
better. You can’t mean what people call Love ? ” 

‘‘No,” replied the other dreamily, “I don’t mean what 
people call Love — I mean what people call Rest ! ” 

“ Rest !” repeated Aunt Emily, in high disdain ; “there’s 
no such thing, except when one is asleep. Rest is ruin to 
your health. Look at Mr. Dennison — there he sits in that 
leather chair till his faculties become torpid and benumbed, 
for mere want of motion. I often tell him, if he was 
obliged to order the dinner and look after the servants, he’d 
be a different creature, but it’s no use. I may talk till I’m 
hoarse ; he won’t even go out for a walk on a day like 
this, and as for driving over here with me ! I do believe 
you couldn’t inflict on him a greater punishment.” 

It may be that Laura appreciated from her own knowledge 
Mr. Dennison’s dread of the expedition on wheels, to which 
Aunt Emily sometimes compelled and sometimes inveigled 
him for his sins. In the first place, he detested an open 
carriage unless he drove it himself; in the second, though 
allowed to smoke under protest, he was not permitted, for 
reasons of state, to sit with his back to the horses ; and in 
the third, there was no possible escape from the long 
catalogue of grievances, which on such occasions were 
too surely poured in his unwilling ear: no considerations 
of time or place were ever known to deter Mrs. Dennison 
from unburthening her mind of all she had got to say, and 
Uncle John, embarking ruefully at her side was only too 
well assured that the proposed pleasure trip would turn out 
a pilgrimage of penance after all. 

“ Gentlemen hate driving,” answered Mrs. Lexley, 
repressing a smile as she reflected how much depended 
on the companion. “ Mine chose to walk off to-day to 
the cricket-match, instead of taking Peter. He plays so 
well he is sure to get a great many runs, and I should think 
neither he nor Mr. Perigord will have a leg to stand on by 
the time they get back. You won’t go till you’ve had 
some tea, Emily. I’ll ring for it at once.” 

“Do, my dear,” replied Mrs. Dennison, “and order my 
carriage at the same time. How do you like young 
Perigord? I thought him a forward disagreeable youth 
enough, when he paid us a visit in the winter.” 


A PEAPL OF PB1CE 


141 


“ Oh ! no,” exclaimed the clergyman’s wife, who for the 
present saw everything couleur de rose. “ I assure you, 
Emily, he is very nice, and no trouble at all. He lives 
with us exactly as if he were a brother of mine, or Mr. 
Lexley’s, and declares he never was so happy in his 
life.” 

“It’s a great responsibility,” observed Aunt Emily, who 
hated people to make the best of things. “You know they 
took him from Eton because he wouldn’t ‘ attend to his 
tasks.’ ” 

“ My husband says he has quite as much application as 
any young man should have at his age,” answered Laura, 
laughing. “ It seems to me he does nothing but bowl at a 
solitary stump, with a net behind it ; and go out rabbiting, 
with a short black pipe in his mouth. I suppose it’s all 
right, and you know, dear, it’s no business of mine. If I 
was his tutor I should make him work. I’ve offered to 
teach him music, but he says he is too stupid to learn.” 

“ Then he has more sense than I gave him credit for,” 
answered Mrs. Dennison with a reproving frown, “ and you 
have even less. You’re not so young as you were, my dear, 
and not half so handsome; but still I don’t think it a good 
plan for you to be guiding his black paws over the keys of 
a pianoforte, when he ought to be at his Latin and Greek. 
What did Mr. Lexley say to this fine proposal? ” 

Her friend burst into a hearty laugh. “ You don’t mean, 
Emily, that you think there would be any danger of my 
falling in love with him ? ” 

“No, I don’t,” replied the other. “But he might fall 
in love with you. A lad of his years is capable of falling 
in love with a monthly nurse, or an under-housemaid. He 
would never consider you were twice his age, and another 
man’s wife.” 

Again Mrs. Lexley stole a look at the mirror and was 
comforted. More than twice his age ! It was too true. 
And yet now when her beauty should have been on the 
wane, she had gained such entire and devoted affection as 
falls to the lot of few women in all the freshness of their 
prime. She felt proud to think how she was idolised by 
her husband, and how completely she had won that truthful 
manly nature for her slave. 


142 


UNCLE JOHN 


“No danger!” she answered gaily. “He knows his 
place and I know mine. It was a capital thing getting 
him here to read with Mr. Lexley. Two hundred a year is 
a great help to us, for you know, Emily, we’re not rich, 
though we’re happy. Don’t go yet, dear, I see them coming 
up the hill.” 

But Mrs. Dennison was not to be persuaded. The only 
creatures she feared on earth were her carriage-horses, and 
when these showed signs of impatience nothing could induce 
her to postpone her departure. Algernon Lexley and young 
Perigord, plodding wearily up the hill to the parsonage, met 
her halfway down, rolling along at the rate of twelve miles 
an hour, and bowed to her with as much deference as if she 
had been the Queen. . 

“ Just missed that party, and a good job too ! ” observed 
the late Etonian, fanning his heated face with the cap he 
had doffed so obsequiously. “ She’s too strong a player for 
me is that old lady, especially in her best hat. She simply 
bowls me out, before I can make any sort of defence.” 

“ She’s a kind and excellent person,” answered the 
clergyman, “ but no doubt her manner is against her. In 
our artificial state of society, to cultivate a pleasant manner 
is really part of one’s duty towards one’s neighbour.” 

“ That’s exactly what I say ! ” exclaimed the lad, “it’s 
all style — style is everything. Now, when you and I went 
in to-day, I was cock-sure one of us would get the score ; 
our style was so much better than those county-players. I 
say, Mr. Lexley, that was a grand drive of yours for the 
sixer, but I thought that little pot-bellied chap would have 
run me out — they changed the bowling then, they ought to 
have changed it before.” 

“ You played well,” said Lexley. “ I wish you would 
put as much energy into everything as you do into cricket ; 
you might go in and win as you liked in most of the affairs 
of life.” 

The lad looked pleased. “ I have no talent except for 
cricket,” said he modestly, “ Now, Crichton at my tutor’s 
was good at everything — - what they call a universal 
genius.” 

“Nonsense,” replied the clergyman, “there’s no such 
thing. Energy, my good fellow, that’s the whole difference 


A PEARL OF PRICE 


143 


between one man and another — energy and perseverance, 
which is only sustained energy after all ! ” 

“ That’s what I’m had at — Perseverance,” said the lad; 
“ I can work at things for a week or two, then I come to a 
stop and don’t seem to get on ; after that, I chuck it up ! ” 
“ Just when you ought to stick to it,” replied the clergy- 
man. “ Have you never seen a fellow climb a greased pole 
for a leg of mutton ? He always fails within six feet of the 
top, and then down he comes by the run. It’s the same 
with the prizes of life. There’s a slippery place to be 
passed somewhere. Hold on by your teeth and eyelids 
when you get to it; harden your heart, make one more 
effort, and you win ! Never believe in happy thoughts, 
inspirations, flashes of genius — what I call the romance of 
intellect. Nothing good was ever yet accomplished but by 
plodding. Native talent stands a poor chance against hard 
work. When you come to a difficulty, off with your coat, 
and hammer at it, like a blacksmith at a horseshoe ! Even 
if it beats you, look at the strength and practice you have 
attained in the very defeat. Work by the clock ! Don’t 
be afraid of leaving off in the middle of a difficult passage 
or a happy vein of thought. Train your mind as you would 
your muscles. To-morrow it will serve you as well as to-day 
— perhaps better. Leave off fresh, but never let twenty- 
four hours elapse without making some progress, if it be 
only an inch or two towards the top of the pole. When 
you’ve won the leg of mutton, don’t be disappointed to find 
it Leicester instead of South Down. The Victoria Cross is 
only a bit of bronze after all ; but honour lies in success, 
not reward : and whether gold, or mutton, or parsley, 
depend upon it the struggle is of more value than the prize. 
I’ve talked myself out of breath, and here we are at the 
house. Come round to the drawing-room window, and Mrs. 
Lexley will give us a cup of tea.” 

But the lad excused himself on the plea that he was too 
hot and dishevelled. So completely was he under the 
influence of her calm beauty and refined bearing, that he 
would no more have entered the presence of his tutor’s wife 
in flannel trousers and a Jersey shirt than he would have 
gone to Court in that unceremonious costume. He retired, 
therefore, armed with his black pipe, for a private stroll 


144 


UNCLE JOHN 


through the laurels, while Lexley, who, notwithstanding 
his long walk and triumphant innings, felt as if he trod on 
air, walked across his lawn among the roses to seat himself 
on the ledge of his wife’s window and drink the tea she 
brought him, with the zest of a true believer sipping sherbet 
in Paradise. 

“How many runs?” said she, laying her cool white hand 
on his shoulder, as he sat with his body in the room and 
his legs in the garden. “ Tell me your score first, and 
then I shall want to know who won the match.” 

She had taught herself to take an interest in cricket for 
his sake, though it must be confessed she found great diffi- 
culty in understanding how the application of wood to 
leather could he made a business of such importance. 

“Fifty-seven off my own hat,” he answered modestly. 
“ How nice of you to care ! And Perigord got forty- six. 
A hollow thing. We won with five wickets to go down. 
The hoy was delighted. And what have you been doing, 
my queen, this lovely summer’s day? ” 

“I drove Peter to Oakley,” she answered, “as you 
wouldn’t have him, and fussed about the village till 
luncheon. Old Martha looks better, hut I left her some 
more port wine ; the gamekeeper’s son is worse. I sat 
with him a little, and he seemed to like it ; hut he wanted 
to see the parson, he said, and I promised you would he 
there to-morrow. He’s wasted to a skeleton. Poor young 
man. I am afraid he is dying.” 

“Dying,” repeated the clergyman: and a shudder crept 
over him, while his eyes fixed themselves on the crimson 
flushes of the western sky. In spite of his reflective habits 
and the experiences of his profession, it seemed to him 
that he had never before realised what that word meant — 
dying. It was to leave the glad sunlight and the June 
roses, the song of birds, the flow of waters, the lavish 
beauty and wealth of that outward nature, which no man 
was better able to appreciate. All this he had taught 
himself to accept ; and much more than this, his faith told 
him there must he an equivalent in some other state of 
existence ; hut to-day, for the first time, it seared him to 
remember that he possessed a treasure now he could never 
bring himself to resign, and that dying meant to leave 


145 


A PEABL OF PBICE 

her. His sunburnt face looked drawn and pale while lie 
spoke the ominous word once more. 

“ Hying. Hid he tell you so ? My darling, I should 
like to spare you from such duties and such sights as 
these.” 

“I don’t mind them,” she answered, taking the empty 
cup from his hand. “ I suppose I must he very hard, but 
when I left the poor fellow, and felt that I had done all in 
my power, I never thought about him again. Peter went 
so well, and I came back to luncheon, as if there were no 
such thing as sorrow or sickness in the world. Yes, I am 
hard-hearted. I am sure I didn’t the least mind Emily 
coming to wish us good-bye before she goes to London.” 

His face fell a little. Though her married life already 
counted by months, she could still play upon his feelings as 
easily as on the keys of her pianoforte, evoking at her will 
alarm, hope, sorrow, affection, despondency — all the various 
chords that constitute the fantasia of a man’s heart. Thus 
it was that she retained her dominion over his every thought 
and action, keeping him in the thraldom of a lover to his 
mistress, rather than yielding him the deference exacted by 
a husband from his wife. 

“ You are quite right,” he answered, with a forced 
laugh. “ A hard heart is the first element of comfort in 
man or woman. Our affections give us more pain than 
pleasure, after all.” 

She detected in his constrained tone the pain she caused, 
and, womanlike, applied the salve when she had sufficiently 
probed the wound. 

“ It’s easy enough to be hard-hearted about old Martha 
or poor Jim Loder,” she said. “ When one really 
cares for people it’s very different. Fancy if Peter was 
ill ! ” 

His face brightened. 

“ That would indeed be a trial,” he laughed. “ You are 
fonder of Peter than any creature on earth.” 

“ Bar one,” she whispered, passing her hand over his 
dark close-cut hair. “Bar one, as those horrid people say 
at the races. Peter is simply perfection. If it wasn’t for 
somebody, who is very easily put out, he would be first 
favourite.” 


10 


146 


UNCLE JOHN 


“And if somebody who is very easily put out were ill, 
would you be anxious and unhappy?” he asked, with a 
loving smile. 

“ I should go mad,” she answered, in a quick, terrified 
whisper. “ There are some things one cannot talk about, 
even in jest. What would my life be without you ? But, 
for goodness’ sake, let us get out of the dolefuls. We want 
that troublesome boy to cheer us up. Why does he not 
come in for his tea before it’s cold ? ” 

Now the reason Mr. Perigord chose to abstain from that 
refreshment has been already given. On the present 
occasion, after a hard day’s cricket, he preferred the solace 
of his short pipe in a favourite lounge outside the garden of 
the parsonage, where he sat himself down on the trunk of a 
fallen tree, and proceeded to enjoy that greatest of all 
luxuries, tobacco after labour. While the smoke-wreaths, 
flavoured with Cavendish, curled about his sleek young 
head, he reviewed with considerable satisfaction the day’s 
doings and his own prowess as displayed in the cricket-field. 
It was pleasant to recall the silence and courage with which 
he stood up to Armstrong’s formidable bowling, the steadiness 
of his defence, the style of his play — he piqued himself 
especially on his style — and that brilliant hit to leg that 
scored him a 4. Then, when they put on Dodge with his 
slows at the other end, he was proud to remember that he 
made six in the very first over, causing that wary pro- 
fessional an infinity of anxiety and distress, before his 
wicket went down at last to “ a twister ” that came in like 
a corkscrew. He could still hear the clapping of hands that 
greeted each brilliant hit, each well-considered block ; could 
still feel the glow of triumph absorbing that enthusiastic 
applause which is so grateful to youth, and is nowhere so 
freely accorded as at the noble game of cricket. To use 
his own expression, the young gentleman felt he had 
“come out freely” and “fancied himself ” accordingly. 

Thoroughly satisfied with his past, his present, and his 
future, he looked back to Eton without regret, admitting 
that the intimate society of his tutor, whom he liked, and 
his tutor’s wife, whom he admired, was more than an 
equivalent for the boating, the bathing, the fun, good 
fellowship, and constant excitement of that delightful 


A PEARL OF PRICE 


147 


school. His father, too, had consented that he should go 
into the army, and Lexley gave him strong hopes that he 
would be able to pass his examinations. Before him lay 
that long vista of the future which seems to lead down 
sunny glades into the distant fairy-land. He saw himself 
grown, whiskered, self-possessed, wearing Her Majesty’s 
uniform, and matured into his own beau-ideal of what a 
gentleman should be. The day-dream was delightful, the 
tobacco soothing, swarms ol gnats wheeled in the evening 
sunbeams, a large humble-bee droned and buzzed among 
the wild flowers at his feet, his eyes swam, his head nodded 
— in another minute he would have been fast asleep. 

But even as his sight began to fail, all his faculties were 
aroused by the figure of a man prowling behind the hedge 
that skirted the field in which he sat. A well-clad figure, 
not the least like a rustic lad birds’-nesting, or a village 
shoemaker out for a stroll. On this contrary, this 
individual was dressed only too respectably ; but in clothes 
of a cut such as the upper classes do not generally wear in 
the country. Our young friend was unusually sharp-sighted. 
He could distinguish through the leafy luxuriance of summer 
blackthorn that this creeping, crouching figure was attired 
in a black frock-coat and shiny satin waistcoat, crossed by 
a bright gold chain, “ like a fellow who keeps a roulette 
table,” thought the Etonian, “or a Newmarket tout in his 
Sunday clothes.” 

The man seemed unconscious that he was observed, and, 
parting the branches of the tangled hedge that concealed 
him, scanned the parsonage and its grounds with a long, 
searching gaze. Having satisfied himself with this 
scrutiny, he proceeded to leave the field, still crouching 
along under the fence towards the gate by which he must 
have entered. 

4 4 Burglar ? ” said the young gentleman to himself. 44 No 
— too well dressed. Land surveyor? Never saw a land 
surveyor with so good a hat. Escaped lunatic, perhaps ? 
Hardly, for he carries an umbrella, and no man ever saw 
a madman with an umbrella. I should like to have a nearer 
look. I’ll just nip round and meet him as he comes into 
the lane.” 

Shaking the ashes out of his pipe, the lad vaulted lightly 


148 


UNCLE JOHN 


over a stile, crossed the adjoining meadow at speed, and 
arrived at the gate apparently by accident, just as the 
stranger laid his hand upon the latch. 

“Fine evening, sir,” said the young gentleman with his 
usual composure. “ Perhaps you are not aware that you 
are trespassing? ” 

The man’s habit seemed to be to look everywhere but in 
the face of the person who addressed him. 

“I beg pardon,” he answered courteously enough. “I 
thought I should find a footpath in the next field. I fancy 
I must have lost my way. Perhaps you can kindly inform 
me where I am.” 

“You see the copse at the end of the lane?” said 
Perigord. “ Take the first turn to the right, and it will 
bring you out on the high-road, opposite the ninety- seventh 
mile-stone from London ; then you will know exactly where 
you are.” 

The man’s face flushed, and he scowled as if disposed 
to resent this piece of impertinence. Glancing at the lad’s 
agile figure, however, he seemed to think better of it, and 
replied good-humouredly — 

“ London is a long way off, and I should like to take my 
bearings a little more accurately than from the meridian of 
Greenwich. Can you tell me whose is that pretty house I 
see peeping through the trees ? ” 

“ Yes, I can,” answered Perigord, volunteering however 
no further information. 

The stranger broke into a laugh. 

“ Excuse me, sir,” said he, “ you seem to be a young 
gentleman of great originality, but particularly indisposed 
to impart information. A cricketer, I presume, by your 
dress. May I ask you if you played a successful match 
to-day ? ” 

“ Certainly,” answered Perigord. “ I don’t mind 
admitting we gave the yokels an awful licking. A 
hundred and forty-seven runs with five wickets to go 
down.” 

“ And the gentleman who lives in that pretty house got 
the score, if I am rightly informed— a clerical gentleman, 
as I understand, lately married to a lady of considerable 
personal attractions? ” 


A PEARL OF PRICE 


149 


“Well, if you know all about it, I don’t see why you 
should ask me,” said Perigord. 

“I am not entirely a stranger in the neighbourhood of 
Middleton,” continued the other, still averting his eyes 
from the youth’s face. “ If I am right in my conjecture as 
to the locality of the parsonage, I know pretty nearly where 
I am. I wish you a good afternoon, sir.” 

Thus speaking, the man took his hat off and proceeded 
in the direction of the London Road, at a pace and with 
a manner that seemed to decline further conversation, 
while young Perigord betook himself to the parsonage, very 
much puzzled as to the social standing of his new ac- 
quaintance. 

In talking him over during dinner, Mr. Lexley suggested 
he might be a collector of subscriptions for the Mission to 
the Feejee Islands, while his wife decided he was travelling 
about with a prospectus for a map of the county. 


CHAPTER XII 


DUTY 

44 You should have put me at 4 long-on , 5 sir, yesterday, 
not 4 cover-point.’ We are used to it, you know.” 

Thus speaking, young Perigord looked up in his tutor’s 
face from the less congenial studies on which he was vainly 
trying to fix his attention. 

44 I’ll go into that question as fully as you please after 
luncheon,” answered Lexley. 44 In the meantime do try 
and remember that elenchos is not Latin for 4 emeralds,’ 
and that Juvenal wrote his Satires at a time when Roman 
society had reached the lowest stage of profligacy and dis- 
order.” 

44 How he pitches into the women ! ” said the pupil. 
44 He must have known a lot of had ones, to describe them 
as he does.” 

44 Quum vvrides gemmas collo circumdedit ,” read the 
tutor, with all a tutor’s roll and inflection on the sonorous 
hexameters. 44 Go on construing, there’s a good fellow. 
Not literally, you know, but giving me the sense in the 
best English you can.” 

Perigord complied, acquitting himself creditably enough, 
but ere long wandered again from the text in his usual dis- 
cursive manner. 

44 Why should he say a rich woman is so intolerable ? I 
know lots of rich women. I don’t think they’re a bit worse 
than poor ones.” 

44 It’s the display, the affectation of wealth in a woman 
that is detestable,” replied Lexley. 44 But I grant you he 
lashes the sex with unsparing sarcasm, and the diatribes 
addressed to his friend, who is about to marry, are doubtless 

150 


DUTY 


151 


enough to frighten a bachelor ; yet people did marry in Borne 
just the same,” added the tutor, reflectively, while a pale 
handsome face seemed to pass like a ghost before his eyes, 
“ as they always have, and always will, let philosophers and 
satirists rail their bitterest. Depend upon it, young one, 
the human instinct is right.” 

“ For my part, I like to see a lady with jewels,” con- 
tinued the lad. “ Emeralds round her neck, pearls in her 
ears, rings on her fingers ” 

“ And bells on her toes,” added Lexley. “ What non- 
sense we are talking ! Go on with the satire.” 

“ That same fellow was prowling about again this 
morning,” observed the young gentleman, inconsequently, 
at the close of another fifty lines. “ I saw him from my 
bed-room window, and would have gone out to give him a 
piece of my mind, only I was shaving at the time.” 

“ Shaving!” repeated his tutor, with a laugh, frankly 
echoed by the pupil. 

“ Shaving ? Yes, sir, shaving — though I don’t think I 
got much off but the lather. You see, when I left Eton my 
aunt gave me a fiver, and the first thing I did was to buy a 
case of razors, marked for every day in the week. Ain’t they 
sharp ! I’ll lend you one if you like. When you shave it’s 
to cut your beard off. When I shave it’s to make mine 
grow. Perhaps some day I shall have whiskers as big as 
yours.” 

“And wish from your heart your cheeks were bare 
again. I do, every morning of my life. But there is 
nothing about whiskers in Juvenal.” 

“I must tell you how this fellow prowled round the 
house, and then I’ll go on construing. He came quietly 
through the garden gate — kept off the gravel, peeped into 
every window on the ground-floor, and when he heard Mary 
undoing the dining-room shutters, bolted like a shot. If I 
wasn’t a steady young man, and a comfort to my parents, I 
should think he was looking for me from Scotland Yard. 
As it is, I believe he is after your spoons. I say, wouldn’t 
it be fun to catch him at it ? We could duck him in the 
long pond and let him go. The only thing is, it might 
frighten Mrs. Lexley.” 

“ I don’t think it would ! ” answered her husband. “ If 


152 


UNCLE JOHN 


it came to a case of house-breaking, I believe she would 
prove the bravest of the three. But I’ve no fear of that 
kind. You and I and James are garrison enough to repel 
any ordinary assault, to say nothing of old Kobin the 
gardener with his rusty gun. Besides, there’s no tempta- 
tion — there’s nothing here for a man to steal.” 

“ Then, what can the fellow want?” said Perigord. “If 
I see him again, sir, mayn’t I order him off, and put him 
out of the grounds by main force if he refuses to go ? ” 

“ Certainly not,” replied the tutor, laughing. “ The 
man may he a most respectable person, connected with 
half-a-dozen philanthropical institutions, for all we know to 
the contrary. Or if he is an evil design, which I doubt 
extremely, he may he what you would call an awkward 
customer to tackle. And if you and I pitched into him 
together, it would hardly look well in the ‘Middleton 
Herald,’ for tutor and pupil to be summoned in a case of 
assault — two to one. Let him alone. You’re tired of 
Juvenal. Now we’ll go into the Franco-Prussian war for 
half an hour, and then it will be time for luncheon.” 

So they got out the map of Europe, before it had been 
rearranged to commemorate the triumph of discipline and 
foresight over ignorance and insubordination, tracking the 
marches and counter-marches of the contending armies, 
from the first shot fired at Saarbriick to the crowning catas- 
trophe of Sedan — a study which seemed more to young 
Perigord’ s taste than the classic vituperations of the 
Homan satirist. He was never tired of dwelling on the 
strength of the Prussian artillery, on the gallantry of the 
Chasseurs d’Afrique, with their tasteful uniform and their 
beautiful little horses. Above all, on these indomitable 
Uhlans, who proved themselves, under all circumstances, 
and in every kind of country, the eyes and ears and feelers 
of the divisions to which they were attached. 

The luncheon-bell rang much too soon for this assiduous 
student, but Lexley, true to his system of working by the 
clock, rolled up the map, shut the book, and proclaimed 
that reading was over for the day. 

“ I never saw the roses so beautiful,” said the happy 
curate to his wife, as, pacing slowly across the lawn after 
luncheon, he drew a deep breath of enjoyment while he 


DUTY 


158 


inhaled draughts of fragrance from those sweetest of flowers. 
“ It must be that I have got the queen of roses here. My 
darling, I hope it is not wrong to say so ; but where you are 
there to me is Paradise.” 

“ I don’t know whether it’s wrong,” she answered, with a 
proud pleased smile ; “ but there’s no question it’s exceed- 
ingly silly. You may admire the roses as much as you 
like, for they are beautiful. I do think that for flowers, 
scenery, peace and quiet, all that makes real comfort, this 
is the nicest little spot in the whole world.” 

He looked inexpressibly gratified. Had it not been his 
highest hope, his dearest wish, to render her lot a bright 
one, and was not this an implied admission that he had 
succeeded ? 

“ And you cannot think of any alteration, any improve- 
ment? ” he asked, looking across the luxuriant garden, with 
its masses of colour, its wealth of green, its undulating, 
close-shaven sward, to the creeper-clad porch, the oriel 
windows, the gables, abutments, and picturesque ins and 
outs of the pretty parsonage. 

“ You don’t want a patent mowing-machine, a wider 
coach-house, a larger drawing-room ? Laura, it makes me 
so happy to think you are satisfied with your life ! ” 

“ Am I the only contented woman you ever heard of 
since Eve grew so tired of her garden ? ” said she, with 
a bright smile. “ Listen, and I’ll tell you the truth. I 
should like every day — every day — to pass just as it does 
now. It need not always be summer ; but I don’t think 
winter could be bleak or dismal here. I should never want 
the slightest change nor interruption in our life, our habits, 
our pursuits. I should wish us to glide on together just 
like this, till we reached the bottom of the hill and tottered 
into the grave arm in arm.” 

Glancing in her face, he thought he had never seen it so 
solemn, nor heard her voice so earnest and impressive. 

“Are you serious, my darling?” he asked, in a low 
tender whisper. 

But Laura’s melting moods were never of long duration. 
“ Serious ? ” she repeated, with a light laugh. “ It would 
make anybody serious to see that boy bowling with such 
perseverance at his cricket-stump on this broiling day. 


154 


UNCLE JOHN 


Tell me, dear, used you to practise so unremittingly before 
you attained that proficiency in the noble game for which 
* our parson ’ is as celebrated as for his sermons, and — and 
his attention to his poor ? What babies men are ! But 
that reminds me we ought to be starting for Oakley. I’m 
coming part of the way with you. Yes, I am. Don’t you 
see, sir, I’ve got on my thick walking-boots, and have 
looped my skirt up to keep it out of the dust ? I shall turn 
back at the end of Oakley Lane.” 

He cast a glance of lover-like admiration at the shapely 
foot in its neat and dainty chaussure, at the flowing white 
draperies so tastefully arranged round the stately figure — 
at the proud, beautiful face, looking so pure and delicate in 
the sunlight that trembled through the summer leaves, and 
felt, as many a man has felt before, a thrill of rapture, 
dashed with an awful sense of insecurity, while he mar- 
velled how this angel could have come down from heaven 
to be his own ! For him the gilt was yet on the ginger- 
bread, the paint on the toy, the dew on the flower, fresh, 
and fragrant as when it first bloomed in Paradise. He 
never forgot that walk through the meadows to Oakley 
Lane. The may on the hedges, the deep blue sky, the 
dazzling green and gold of fertile fields knee-deep in grass 
and buttercups, the altered note of the cuckoo, the chatter 
of jays and murmur of wood-pigeons in the adjoining woods, 
the drone and buzz of insect life, the swallows darting 
down the stream ; the very butterflies, primrose and red- 
and-black, that flitted across their path. 

Above all, the queenly figure in white moving smoothly 
by his side, whose voice was sweeter in his ears than the 
wild bird’s carol, whose smile was brighter to his eyes than 
the summer sunshine. 

Strange, that its memory should afterwards have absorbed 
even that of the other walk through the laurels at Plumpton, 
when he asked her to be his wife ! though we may be sure 
this episode had not been forgotten, and was alluded to 
more than once between the gate of the parsonage and 
Oakley Lane. 

They talked like lovers still, though they had been 
married for months. They went for the hundredth time 
into those endless details of hope and fear, uncertainty 


DUTY 


155 


and self- depreciation, which are so absurd, so touching, 
and so uninteresting to all hut the two people concerned. 
Once, leaning against a stile, he sitting on the step at her 
knees, she laid her hand caressingly on his shoulder while 
she volunteered more of her sentiments and private 
opinions than she had ever revealed before. They were 
shaded by a huge old oak in the shining brightness of its 
first full leaf. Before them rose a range of wooded hills, 
from which peeped the hamlet of Oakley, with its tapering- 
spire. At their feet a trout-stream murmured and gurgled 
under its alder-fringed banks. From an adjoining copse 
blackbird and thrush were straining their throats in rivalry 
of woodland music. Two or three sheep, with quiet stupid 
faces, cropped the herbage undisturbed ; and the cattle at 
the end of the field were rising slowly and laboriously for 
their afternoon feed. There was hardly a breath of air 
stirring, nor a streak of white in the blue cloudless sky. 
Everything denoted peace, prosperity and repose ; the rich 
pasture, the luxuriant foliage, the golden haze that mel- 
lowed all the wooded distance, the flocks and herds, the 
thin smoke curling upward from a hidden cottage, the very 
tug and nibble of those confiding sheep — all were in keep- 
ing with the calm, quiet, matchless beauty of an English 
summer’s day. 

44 There is nothing like this in the world,” said Laura, 
furling her parasol, while she turned to meet the breeze. 
44 Nothing ! Everywhere abroad it’s the same — a scorching 
sun that one can only escape by remaining indoors, or 
a piercing cold that freezes the very marrow in one’s hones. 
There’s no medium. To be tolerably comfortable, you 
must either sit in a stove or an ice-house. I’ve been all 
over the world, dear. Take my word for it, there’s no 
place like England, and in England there’s no place like 
Oakley Lane.” 

44 1 think so, now,” he answered, looking fondly up in 
her face. 44 But before I knew you, I had a great inclina- 
tion to travel.” 

44 And before I knew you,” she replied, 44 1 did travel 
without the slightest inclination to do so. I can scarcely 
believe I am the same woman when I look back on my 
past life.” 


156 


UNCLE JOHN 


She shuddered while she spoke, and pressed her hand 
heavier on his shoulder as if to assure herself the present 
was a reality. 

“You must have had a hard time of it, my darling,” 
said he. “Perhaps had it not been so, I might never 
have prevailed on one so beautiful and so gifted, to 
become a quiet parson’s wife. Never mind. So much the 
more reason for making the most of her now I have got 
her ! ” 

An unaccustomed tear trembled on her eyelid, but she 
dashed it away with a gesture of impatience bordering on 
contempt. 

“ How good to me you are ! ” she exclaimed ; “ and how 
different from men in general ! You never seem to be 
thinking of yourself. You’ve no vices, no crotchets, and no 
bad habits. You’re six feet high, and you don’t smoke. 
It’s nice of you to be six feet high and not to smoke ! 
Do you know, the first thing I liked about you was your 
utter want of self-consciousness ? You came to the piano- 
forte when I was playing, and never even looked in the 
glass. I don’t believe there was another man in the room, 
except Mr. Dennison, who could have passed it without a 
squint.” 

“Not even Maxwell?” observed Lexley, who, with the 
keen-sightedness of love, had experienced certain little 
twinges of jealousy regarding his friend Horace. 

“Not even Mr. Maxwell,” she repeated. “ He’s just as 
conceited as the rest of his sex, and I am convinced no 
consideration on earth could make him forget Mr. Maxwell. 
And yet, if you had not been there, I dare say I should 
have thought him very nice.” 

“ How you could like me best is more than I can under- 
stand,” said the clergyman, in perfect sincerity, and with a 
gravity befitting the occasion. 

“ Don’t you think I know diamonds from paste ? ” she 
replied laughing. “ Recollect, I have worn both in my 
time. Ah ! if you could realise what it is to find out the 
jewels are only imitation after all ! It is just as if I were 
to discover you had got another wife and had been playing 
false with me ever since we met. These are the things 
that drive the poor women we read of to jump from 


DUTY 


157 


Waterloo Bridge. What happens to a man in such a 
case? Does he break his heart, or does he order more 
diamonds and take his chance ? ” 

“ I don’t know about breaking his heart,” answered her 
husband in a low thick voice ; “ but I believe if such a 
judgment overtook me, I could never lift my head amongst 
my fellow creatures again. Fancy the sin — the shame — 
the scorn of one’s parish — the disgrace to one’s calling ! 
Laura, it would drive me mad. I cannot bear even to 
think of it.” 

“ Then don’t think of it,” she replied cheerfully. “ You 
are bound on a melancholy errand as it is. Now, dearest, 
attend to me. Have you a pencil ? Of course not. 
Here, take mine, and the back of this letter. What is 
the use of your pockets ? Make a little list of that poor 
lad’s wants, and I can drive over with the things to-morrow. 
You won’t have time to see Martha, but though she grumbles 
a good deal, she is really better. I shall go straight home. 
I wonder if that undefeated boy has bowled his stump 
down yet. God bless you, Algy dear ! It’s a painful 
business, but it will comfort the poor old people very much. 
Don’t hurry back. In this beautiful weather we can’t 
dine too late. No — I won’t stay another moment. 
Good-bye.” 

But she turned before she had gone ten space, to 
observe, “ there was a quarter of lamb for dinner, and 
wouldn’t he like best to have it cold?” 

As the parson climbed the hill, he looked back more 
than once, till the graceful figure in its white dress had 
undulated out of sight, then, while his accustomed limbs 
swung into their regular stride, a still small voice seemed 
to whisper that he, a servant of the Church, had committed 
too much of his happiness to the keeping of a mortal like 
himself; nor was it without a sense of self-reproach that 
he repeated aloud, “ Where the treasure is, there will the 
heart be also.” 

In less than half an hour he crossed the green of Oakley 
village. The first person he met was old Loder turning 
out of the public-house with a short pipe in his mouth. 

Scanning the keeper, he was aware that, contrary to his 
usual habits, the man had been drinking, and seemed in the 


158 


UNCLE JOHN 


half torpid morose condition of those who in their trouble 
turn for consolation to beer. 

“Fine arternoon, sir,” observed Loder, avoiding the 
parson’s eye, as he made a snatch at his hat, and tried to 
shuffle past the tall form that stood directly in his path. 

“ Fine enough,” was the curt answer. “ But no matte) 
for that now. How’s Jim ? ” 

“ Don’t you get talking to me about Jim,” replied the 
old man fiercely. “It’s Jim here and Jim there, again 
and again and again — doctors and parsons, parsons and 
doctors. What’s the good on ’em. They can’t none on 
’em keep the life in the lad. Oh ! I don’t know nothin’ 
about Jim. But it’s a rare time this is for the young 
pheasants.” 

Lexley put his hand on the other’s shoulder. “ I’m going 
on to see Jim,” said he sternly. “ It’s when folks are in 
trouble their friends should stick by them. If I was lying 
sick down yonder across the brook, wouldn’t you find time 
to come and learn what kind of a fight I could make of it ? 
I’d be sorry if you wouldn’t — and am I not to do the same 
by you and yours ? ” 

“ God bless ye, Mr. Lexley ! ” muttered the keeper in 
thick hoarse accents. “ You’re a man, you are, an’ I’ve 
said so scores an’ scores of times. Don’t you take no 
notice of me ; I’m ’most off my head, I am, with this here 
trouble up at home. The missis, she’ll thank ye kindly ; 
and — and the lad, he wor a sayin’, not half an hour ago, 
* Father,’ says he, ‘what’s gone with the parson? He’ll 
be up to-day, for sure.’ So I went an’ had a pint — and I 
ought to be in Marbury Dales now — and I thank you 
kindly. You’re a man , you are. An’ doan’t ye think no 
more o’ what I said.” 

With which incoherent remarks, and an application of 
the ends of his limp red neck-cloth, ostensibly rather to 
wipe the sweat from his face than the tears from his eyes, 
the old man’s gaiters carried him sturdily past the public- 
house, to return to his sylvan duties in Marbury Dales. 

Lexley strode up the village street with a saddened face. 
Two or three idlers were, as usual, in the blacksmith’s shop ; 
he detected in their looks a consciousness of his errand 
and a sympathy for the hopeless state of the lad he had 


DUTY 


159 


come to visit. Even the school-mistress, though with 
new ribbons in her cap, made him a respectful curtsey with- 
out the bright smile that usually accompanied her greeting. 

Poor Dame Loder, looking ten years older than when he 
saw her last, wiped a chair with her apron and set it ready 
for the parson, as with eyes full of tears she welcomed 
him on the door-sill. 

“ Any better ? ” asked her visitor, removing his hat 
courteously, “ I met your husband as I came up street just 
now, Mrs. Loder, and was sorry to see him so downhearted. 
While there’s life there’s hope, you know ; and even when 
that hope fails it is only exchanged for another — brighter, 
holier, and never to be taken away.” 

Though the tears were coursing down the mother’s 
cheeks, she made shift to answer: 

“ Indeed, sir, an’ that’s God’s truth ; but it’s hard to 
hear — hard to bear. An’ my master, he takes on worse 
than the poor lad, as is patient like a lamb to the slaughter. 
An’ there’s wine an’ doctor’s stuff, and grave-clothes to 
make ready, an’ oh dear ! oh dear ! my head’s that bad I 
could set down in that theer arm-cheer and wish as I’d 
never been born.” 

“ Sit down in it, then,” said Lexley, “ and have your 
cry out ; it will do you good. Afterwards you shall take 
me to poor Jim, and we’ll see if we can’t make it a little 
easier for him between us, even if we do no good. Don’t 
be in a hurry, Mrs. Loder ; my time is yours, and it would 
w r orry the boy to see his mother with such a tearful face.” 

This last consideration served probably to rouse that 
courage of endurance which is seldom dormant for long in 
a woman’s breast. Mrs. Loder, remembering with satis- 
faction that she had “tidied up” her son’s room, re- 
covered herself bravely and recalled her company manners 
for the occasion. 

“ I ask your pardon, I am sure, sir,” said she, with 
another curtsey, “ but this here trouble puts all beside out 
of my poor head. I hope as how your good lady is well, 
sir ; and will you please to make my duty and thank her 
kindly for all favours, and Jim’s too? — though it seems 
to me as it’s only half of Jim as is lying in that theer bed.” 

It was indeed a very different form from that of the 


160 


UNCLE JOHN 


agile well-grown youth of a few months ago, the best 
cricketer and fastest runner in the parish. Those active 
limbs were limp and helpless now ; the poor thin hand 
that lay outside the coverlet had wasted to transparency, 
the sharp delicate features seemed carved in ivory, and the 
large eyes burned with unearthly fire as they turned on the 
parson that eager, wistful look which is too surely a fore- 
runner of death. 

Lexley was little given to weeping, and no stranger to 
the death-beds of rich and poor, but he kept his tears back 
with an effort while the boy tried to thank him for coming, 
in the faint whispers of utter exhaustion. 

“ Father said as you wouldn’t keep away,” gasped poor 
Jim, “ an’ I knowed your voice, sir, whiles you was a-talkin’ 
to mother in the door. D’ye mind, sir, when us played 
Middleton Eleven last Plumpton feast? Doctor he says 
as I’m bound to mend now the warm weather has set in ; 
but I’m thinking, sir, maybe I’ll never play one of Mr. 
Dodge’s slows again.” 

This is no place in which to repeat the serious and well- 
chosen words in which the clergyman reminded him that 
the issues of life and death are with One of whom he had 
first heard at his mother’s knee, before he went to Sunday 
school ; that the true courage of manhood consists in 
accepting the award of that One for good and for evil 
without a murmur, professing only gratitude for the past, 
resignation for the present, and humble hope for the 
future ; that pain and sin are the very conditions of this 
short span men call existence ; that life is but to do a 
day’s work honestly, and death, to come home for a day’s 
wages when the sun goes down — not as of right, but 
because of the great unspeakable price that has purchased 
all who bow the head and bend the knee. 

Poor Jim listened as a wayfarer listens to the directions 
that must guide him through the wilderness. Though his 
breath came fainter and fainter, the clasp of his wan fingers 
lying in the parson’s hand denoted rapt attention ; and his 
mother observed that her son’s eyes followed her move- 
ments through the room fondly, yet helplessly and without 
meaning, as they did when he was a rosy baby boy in his 
cradle. She never knew exactly how they became fixed and 


DUTY 


161 


dim, for it was already twilight ere the faint pressure of that 
failing hand relaxed, and from the dark corner by the bed- 
side came forth the parson’s firm and serious voice, saying : 

“ Your son is dead, yet liveth : take comfort, therefore ; 
come, kneel down and pray with me to God.” 

The stars were out, and the last gleam of sunset had 
faded in the west, when Lexley started for his homeward 
walk, leaving in that humble cottage a dead son and a 
mourning mother. Mourning, yet not altogether without 
comfort and without hope. “At such times as these,” he 
thought, while he passed gently between the high luxuriant 
hedges, through all the wealth and fragrance of the summer 
night, “ a man feels how little he can depend on his own 
strength, his own energy, when affliction attacks him by 
means of his affections, and in the person of another ; then 
it is he must look upward for assistance from without, lean- 
ing confidently on the arm that cannot fail ; trusting im- 
plicitly to the hand that is ever stretched, when all other 
hope has passed away. If I could only reproduce, in my 
sermon next Sunday, the scene I have witnessed even now, 
how many hearts could I touch, how many consciences 
could I rouse, how many souls could I awaken to the one 
great truth of which life and labour are hut the daily 
expositions ! May God help me to do my duty by these 
poor people, if it be but in humble thanks for the lot He 
has given me — surely the happiest lot on earth ! and if I 
should ever be stricken to the dust, for my many sins and 
shortcomings, may He give me strength to bear my 
chastisement, not with human pride, but Christian 
resignation ! ” 

Even while he thus reflected, a shudder crept to his very 
marrow, and he walked fiercely on, for he dared not think 
of one possible affliction that his rebellious heart whispered, 
neither hope nor faith could render him strong enough to 
endure. 

Half-way down the hill under Oakley village, Lexley met 
a slowly moving figure, looming large and square in the 
darkness. He recognised it by the gun on its shoulder for 
the bereaved father of poor Jim Loder. The keeper came 
on with firm dogged steps, and would have passed without 
speaking, but that Lexley again stood in his path. 


162 


UNCLE JOHN 


“ What’s up ? ” exclaimed the old man fiercely. “ Oh ! 
it’s you , Mr. Lexley. Good-night, sir.” But he stopped 
and faced round, letting the butt of his gun rest on the 
ground, and trembling in every limb. 

“ God’s will be done ! ” said the parson, taking his hat 
off and looking reverently up towards the stars. “ Say the 
words after me, Loder, and go straight home. There are 
others need comfort as well as you.” 

“ God’s will he done ! ” repeated the old man, in a broken 
voice, and moved on without another word ; hut to Lexley, 
looking after him through the dusk, it seemed that his gait 
was already enfeebled and his stature shrunken by a span. 

And now our parson increased his pace, setting himself 
resolutely to get home. In honest truth he was longing for 
the restorative of his wife’s sweet smile and kindly greeting ; 
nor, with the healthy appetite of a strong active man, was 
the prospect of a dinner, at this late hour, by any means 
displeasing. His spirits rose as he neared his own dwelling. 
He had come from a scene of solemn and sacred sorrow, but 
he felt he had done his duty, and however sympathetic a 
man’s heart may he, the afflictions of others cannot affect 
it like its own. By the time he reached the stile, now 
scarcely visible in the darkness, at which Laura turned 
back in the afternoon, he could have kissed the ground she 
had trodden, could have run, or leapt, or sung aloud, or 
committed any other absurdity, for very joy. 

Nearing the turn of a lane that led to Oakley Station, his 
ear caught the roll of wheels, and a hundred yards further 
on he recognised the broad grey back of Peter trotting 
merrily home with the basket-carriage. His servant, 
recognising him, pulled up and touched his hat. 

“ Where the — where on earth have you been at this time 
of night?” asked the clergyman, running over a thousand 
wild speculations in his mind to account for this apparition. 

“ Oakley Station,” answered the groom, who was a man 
of few words, handing his master the reins. 

“ And who sent you to Oakley Station ? Go on, Peter,” 
continued the clergyman. 

“ Missus drove there to catch the train, and I was to 
bring the carriage back and let you know,” was the answer. 

It was lucky for Peter that his trotting powers, as I have 


DVTlt 


163 


already stated, were of the swiftest. In a very few minutes 
he stood at the door of the parsonage, untouched by the 
whip, but blowing hard and covered with lather; while 
Lexley, white and scared, rushed into the drawing-room, 
looking about for the note he felt sure his wife must have 
written to explain her departure. 

Here he found Perigord, calmly waiting for dinner, the 
less impatiently that at six o’clock he had fortified nature 
with a heavy tea. 

His composure acted as a sedative. “ I’ve a message for 
you, sir, from Mrs. Lexley. She’s off to London — went by 
the 7.50. She is to write and tell you all about it. I hope 
there’s not much the matter, but she looked very pale when 
she started.” 

“ Matter ! pale ! ” gasped the other. “ She’s not ill, is 
she? ” 

“ Neuralgia,” answered the young gentleman. “ Subject 
to it, she said, and gone off to the only man in London who 
can do any good. Squirts something into the nerve. My 
sister Jane has it too, but they give her port wine and sand- 
wiches.” 

The explanation was so far satisfactory that Lexley sat 
down to dinner reassured. The whole business, though 
unusual, seemed natural enough, and he was conscious of no 
other feeling than a vague surprise when his pupil, rising 
from the table, observed meditatively, “ That prowling 
vagabond was about again this afternoon, and, would you 
believe it, sir, the scoundrel had the impudence to stop Mrs. 
Lexley’ s carriage and speak to her, as she drove out at the 
gate ! ” 


CHAPTER XIII 


SELF-SACRIFICE 

When Lexley, bound on his professional mission, parted 
from her at the stile under the oak-tree, his wife sauntered 
slowly homeward, enjoying with all the appreciation of a 
vigorous nature the glittering sunshine, woodland music 
and balmy odours of that bright summer afternoon. She 
had been perfectly sincere when she told him how infinitely 
she preferred the climate and scenery of England to all she 
had visited elsewhere. Coming in sight of her own pretty 
house with its trim lawn, blazing flower-beds, and rose- 
curtained windows, she could not forbear a quiet smile of 
heartfelt happiness and content. “What a dear little 
harbour of refuge it is ! ” she murmured. “ How peaceful, 
how orderly, how thoroughly English and comfortable ! 
Nothing to worry or disturb one. No near neighbours to 
intrude at unseasonable hours. Mrs. Dennison goes to 
London to-day. I never w r ant to see London again ! Yes, 
I am as happy as anybody can expect to be. I have every- 
thing I used to wish for — rest, security, enough to live on, 
and a husband, poor dear, who worships the very ground I 
tread. How kind he is, and unselfish — how honest and 
brave, and strong! Am I in love with him? I almost 
think I am — at least, I should be, if I were a little less 
certain of his liking me, or if I had the slightest fear of 
losing him. Happily there is no chance of that. As I told 
him in the garden, we shall probably twaddle away the rest 
of our lives together, without change or interruption ! Not 
an exciting future ! But I have had enough of excitement. 
I hope I may never know what that hateful word means 

164 


SELF-SACRIFICE 


165 


again. I hope I may never leave my dear little home till 
they carry me out of it to the ” 

She stopped and tottered as if she had been shot, turning 
sick and faint, so that she must have fallen, had not a man, 
dressed in black, caught her in his arms and propped her 
against the gate, at which he seemed to have been waiting 
her arrival. 

On no previous occasion in the whole of her unhappy life 
had she such need of that courage and fortitude on which 
she prided herself. Those qualities now stood her in good 
stead. She confronted the man, with a face from which 
every vestige of colour had departed, hut that was yet calm, 
resolute, and unmoved, while, though she gasped for breath, 
moistening her dry lips with her tongue before she could get 
out the words, there was the old hard ring in them he 
remembered so well, as she demanded fiercely : 

“Ferdinand! Mr. Delaney! What do you want with 
me? and why are you here?” 

For one wild moment the fancy crossed her brain that 
this might be the disembodied spirit of her husband, 
returned from its appointed place. It is not too much to 
say that, facing him with scornful and defiant eyes, she 
wished it could be so. His answer — of the earth, earthly 
— sufficiently dispelled such an illusion. 

“ What do I want, Laura? Come, that’s putting rather 
too much side on ! What do you suppose a man wants 
when he travels from the other end of everywhere to find 
his own wife ? ” 

“ Don’t dare to call me Laura ! ” she flashed out, goaded 
by the thought of that other voice, resting so fondly on the 
familiar name. “Don’t dare to say I am your wife ! As 
God shall judge me, that accursed contract was dissolved 
for ever when we parted in the States ! Have you no pity? 
— no sense of right — no spark of honour — no self-respect ? 
Man ! For the love of heaven go your way, and let me go 
mine ! ” 

He lit a cigar, very carefully, and with the fixed smile 
she so hated about his lips. The accustomed action, the 
scar on his left hand, the ring she remembered he had 
always worn, the various details of his dress and person, 
affected her with a horror and loathing that almost mastered 


166 


UNCLE JOHN 


reason. In such a mood women have done murder, from a 
mere animal impulse of escape. 

“ I’m not much of a lawyer,” said he, puffing a volume of 
smoke in her face with perfect composure, “ but neither am 
I quite such a fool as I look. When people are legally 
married, I’ve always understood they remain man and wife 
till they are legally divorced. I may be wrong — I generally 
am — hut that’s my opinion, and I mean to act upon it. 
You’re not listening, Mrs. Delaney.” 

She was not. With an effort of which few natures would 
have been capable, she had summoned all her powers of 
heart and brain to confront the position and make the best 
of it. Not for herself — that was past and done with now — 
hut for another — for the man she loved — how dearly, till 
this miserable moment, she had never realised ! 

Leaning on the gate, for her knees still trembled, she 
passed her hand across her face, and mastering with 
admirable courage the emotions of horror, disgust, and 
despair that racked her to the core, turned calmly to her 
tormentor, and spoke in her ordinary quiet tones : 

“Forgive me. You know as well as I do that I never 
expected to see you again. Your apparition — for I can call 
it nothing else — upset me, and I dare say I said all sorts of 
things I didn’t mean. I had heard nothing of you since we 
parted, till that ship drifted ashore without a soul on board. 
I thought that you — you had not escaped with your life.” 

“Thought I was dead, and a good job too?” he 
answered, with his mocking laugh. “ I must say you did 
look disappointed, and skeered as well. However, busi- 
ness is business. Here’s a precious muddle you’ve been 
and made ! Married again, as I understand ! A parson, 
too ! and me not rubbed out after all ! It’s as good as a 
play. I couldn’t help laughing when I read it in the 
English papers ; hut I thought I’d take an early oppor- 
tunity of looking in after I got home, just to see how you 
were getting along.” 

“My life is tolerably comfortable,” she answered, with 
little outward show of emotion. “ Mine has been an 
uneventful career since we parted. Yours, I suppose, a 
constant succession of ups and downs, terminating, as 
usual, with a run of ill luck?” 


SELF-SACRIFICE 


167 


u That’s about it,” said he, not without a sense of 
gratification that she should care to ask. “ More downs 
than ups, and more had luck than good. When I left New 
York I made tracks at once for ’Frisco. Bless ye, I’d 
better have gone to the only place I ever heard of that could 
be hotter. I was no more use there than a baby. Fellows 
loafing round, before, behind, all about you, the moment 
you touched a card, and every second player with one 
bower at least in his sleeve, and a couple of aces in his 
hat — not to mention the Derringer ready to loose off at 
sight if you ventured to object. They’d have cleared 
away the whole of my pile, only I wouldn’t give ’em a 
show. I saw with half an eye that I should he played out 
before I’d been a week in the town, so I up stick and away 
for Sacramento. I did well there, and might have done 
better if only I’d been a bigger rogue than my partner. 
You remember him — the long yellow chap we had such a 
shine about ? One blaming hot morning I missed him from 
breakfast, and the first news I got of the skunk was to tell 
me he had been seen on the stage for North Fork at day- 
break, with as many traps on board as would have foundered 
a steamboat. I confess I was fairly treed then. Beyond 
a five-dollar note, the clothes I stood upright in, and a 
diamond breast-pin, I hadn’t a blessed cent in the world. 
I wanted you, my dear, and the old piano, very had. Ah ! 
you never know the worth of a thing till you’ve lost it.” 

She darted at him one glance of concentrated hate and 
scorn. Great heavens ! Could this mean heartless villain 
belong to the same creation as that other man with whom 
she had parted a few short hours ago? She wondered 
vaguely how she could ever have borne her lot in the old 
miserable days ; but she commanded herself with a power 
of repression and self-restraint beyond all praise. That 
other, she thought, must he spared at any sacrifice. 
There was no duty, no interest, left for her on earth but 
this. 

Delaney smoked on, as it seemed, in peaceful contem- 
plation of a past that redounded wholly to his credit. 

“ Possible,” he continued, after a pause, “ possible as 
I didn’t take the right view of things. They couldn’t he 
worse, could they? and for that very reason they were 


168 


UNCLE JOHN 


bound to mend. As I came up street, feeling more like a 
hunted devil than a respectable citizen of the Old World 
and the New, I struck luck and made a fresh acquaintance. 
A Southerner, this was, very free with his dollars, and 
flush enough, for the matter of that, though where they 
came from is more than I can tell. A soft-spoken chap he 
was, with a handsome face, and might have been own 
brother to what’s-his-name — the foreigner who was sweet 
upon you at Corfu, and got drowned afterwards that night 
in the white squall. This one would play for his shirt at 
poker, rondo, or euchre. Guess I cleaned him out in three 
days, and a very decent pile he had to begin upon. But 
I was kinder sorry for him, too, Mrs. Delaney, he reminded 
me so much of your fancy man.” 

“ Brute ! ” she muttered between her clenched teeth, 
while her heart thrilled with a vague sense of self-reproach, 
not altogether painful, to think even Victor had been for- 
gotten in the quiet happiness that had come to her at last, 
that must only be remembered henceforth as a dream of 
fairy-land. 

“But it’s getting late,” observed Mr. Delaney, cutting 
short the thread of his narrative, and shading his eyes 
to note the declining sun. “I must be at Middleton 
to-night, and shall have to foot it all the way, worse luck ! 

‘ When we’re rich we ride in chaises,’ you know. Hang 
it ! What’s the use of grumbling ? I say, Laura, don’t 
you remember the yiickers we drove at Bucharest ? I’ve 
never seen their equals before nor since. I wish I’d one of 
them to-night, if he was only hitched to a butcher’s cart. 
Walking isn’t my game, and never was.” 

“ Do you stay long at Middleton? ” she asked, while she 
could almost hear her heart beat. 

“Depends on circumstances, Mrs D.,” was his reply. 
“Perhaps I ought to say, depends on you. I’m about 
cleaned out, you see, and when a fellow is cleaned out, it 
stands to reason he must stay in the same place. I’m just 
like a river steamer; always was. I consume a deal of fuel, 
but I’ve only got to take in wood, and there I am, ready 
to paddle on again, upstream or down. Laura,” added the 
man in a husky voice, through which struggled a something 
of wounded affection, or vanity, or self-love, “ I didn’t 


SELF-SACRIFICE 


169 


expect you’d be glad to see me, but I’ve thought about you 
many a time since we parted. Oftener than you’d suppose. 
And you — hang it ! — you don’t seem ever so much as to 
have asked if I was dead or alive.” 

Her reply came in low distinct syllables. “ I believed,” 
— she had almost said “ I hoped ” — “ I believed you were 
dead ! ” 

“ And didn’t care a cent,” he continued bitterly, 
“ whether I was or not, so long as j^ou never saw me 
again? Well, I’ve lived to disappoint you, and here I 
am ! I’ve changed my name half-a-dozen times, and I 
won’t say I call myself Ferdinand Delaney, Esq., either 
here or in London, but I can prove my identity fast enough, 
if I choose, and I ivill too, if I’m driven to it.” 

“ But the steamer that had been boarded by pirates, and 
afterwards came ashore?” she asked, more with the view 
of gaining time for reflection, than from any interest in 
his fate, seeing he was still alive. “ How did you escape, 
when crew and passengers were massacred without 
remorse ? ’ 

“Never sailed in her at all,” was his answer. “You 
see there were a few of us who kept the ball rolling to 
some purpose, and lived more than free down there. The 
Spanish government was to pay the bill, if anybody ever 
got paid; but it was no use to think of to-morrow in a 
place where a man couldn’t take his boots off when he 
turned in, or go to sleep without a revolver in his hand. 
Fine times we had, I can tell you. Monte, for they liked 
nothing better, from sun-up to sun-down, and round again, 
with dancing, drinking, and all kinds of devil’s delight 
going on between the deals. You may believe Derringers 
were popping like crackers in the old country at Christmas, 
and a day seldom passed but some good fellow was rubbed 
out. What’s the odds? Another soon took his place. 
I’ve seen as many as five difficulties in one afternoon, 
between Farebrother’s grocery and the Magnolia Saloon. 
Well, a friend of mine, a partner he was, met with an 
accident the very night before the steamer sailed. It began 
with a trifling difference of opinion, a little question of 
arithmetic — about a five-spot card and a four. It ended 
with two shots and a bowie -knife, so that the other man 


170 


UNCLE JOHN 


went under. My friend seems to have miscounted, and 
somehow the gentleman got nasty, and talked about a 
court of inquiry conducted by Judge Lynch, which could 
have been satisfactory to nobody. So I lent my friend a 
few dollars, an empty portfolio, and the use of my name. 
We got him on board at midnight, and the Independiente 
was hull-down before sunrise. Poor fellow ! I suppose 
his cards were called, and he was bound to play his hand 
out. That’s how he had to settle up, instead of me, when 
the pirates took her — though why they didn’t make a good 
job of it, and scuttle the old craft, beats me altogether — 
and that’s how I come to be alive and well as Frederick 
Dalton, hack once more in my native country, and I might 
say without bounce, in the bosom of my family. Still, at 
all games there must be a ‘ zero ’ or an ‘ apres.’ I find 
myself without so much in my pocket as will pay my hotel 
bill at Middleton for the next two days, exclusive of 
sundries, attendance, champagne, and cigars.” 

She heard, but scarcely heeded what he said, so intent 
was she on her own project. She experienced, too, that 
most painful of misgivings, the fear lest her strength should 
fail, and she should break down before she could accomplish 
her purpose. He mistook her preoccupation for a weakness 
of which she was ashamed — for some lingering feeling of 
regard, which made her glad to see him again. Whatever 
may have passed between them, a man is seldom so bad 
but that his heart can he touched by the interest of a 
beautiful woman, and even Delaney’s voice faltered while 
he asked : 

“Do you hate me, Laura? I know I deserve nothing 
else, but I have often wished things had been different, 
particularly of late. I am getting on in years now. I 
want repose. I should like to be respectable. I should 
like to have a home of my own. And — and — it seems 
hard lines on a fellow to return with empty pockets and 
find his wife married again, hating him like poison and 
wishing he were dead ! ” 

“ It is no question of such things now,” she replied in a 
hard dry voice. “You did not come here to ask my 
forgiveness, which would be useless, or to propose that we 
live together again, which is impossible. You came as a 


SELF-SACRIFICE 


171 


mere matter of business, and as a mere matter of business 
I am ready to hear what you have to say.” 

“ D n it ! you are a cool hand ! ” he answered angrily, 

yet not without admiration. “You’ve hit it, Mrs. D. I 
don’t want you , but I want money. You’ve got money, and 
I’ve got a right to my share.” 

“ As a question of money, then,” said she, “the matter 
resolves itself into this : you are in possession of a secret, 
which, like all other secrets, loses its value the moment it 
is disclosed. If I refuse to assist you, what can you 
do?” 

“Go to Mr. Lexley at once,” he replied with a sneer. 
“ You see I know all about him. Go to the parson, 
threaten him with exposure, and tell him the whole truth. 
Come ! that takes you, Mrs. D. Confess now, you’re 
played out.” 

“And what do you suppose my — Mr. Lexley would pay 
to keep a matter secret that was known to three people, 
of whom the one most concerned, namely myself, would 
certainly make the whole thing public at once ? Do you 
suppose an honourable, upright man, a clergyman of the 
Church of England, would lend himself for a day to such a 
vile, wicked, and impossible concealment as you suggest? 
No ; you have only me to work on, and it is fortunate for 
you that I am less hard-hearted than I used to be, and that 
I am willing to make some sacrifices, as far as my means 
will allow, in order to pass the rest of my life in peace and 
quiet, away from you” 

“ And with him ! I understand. You love this parson 
of yours just as you hate me” 

Noticing neither the taunt nor the bitter laugh with which 
it was launched, she continued in the same dry unimpassioned 
voice : 

“ To return to you is utterly out of the question, even if 
you wished it, which I can hardly believe, and tried to 
compel my obedience. I tell you fairly, I would appeal to 
the nearest magistrate. I do not think Mr. Delaney, under 
any of his names, would care to make the acquaintance of 
a justice of the peace.” 

“ Euchred ! ” he muttered between his teeth ; adding in 
0- louder voice and with an affected air of frankness, “ AVe 


172 


UNCLE JOHN 


neither of us want to he blown upon, Laura ; I expect that’s 
the way to say it. Only you’ve got something to lose, and 
I haven’t. My stake is easy enough to cover, you see, hut 
you must go a few dollars better. Now I should say you 
ought to pull out fifty pounds — tens or fivers would suit me 
well enough — and cry quits. I wouldn’t come near you 
then for three or four months.” 

“ I have hut twenty pounds in the world,” she answered. 
“If I go home and fetch it, will you swear to leave this 
neighbourhood at once, and persecute me no more? ” 

“ Twenty pounds is very little money,” said he. “It 
will take five to pay my bill at Middleton. Still, if you are 
not flush just now, Laura, I must he liberal with you. I’ll 
make it last as long as I can, my dear, only when it’s done 
I shall have to ask for some more.” 

“ Listen,” she said, in her coldest, hardest tones, while 
her dreamy eyes seemed to gaze down some endless vista of 
the future, far beyond him, and in which he had no concern. 
“ You know that what I say I mean, for good or for evil; 
that I never go back from my word, and threaten only what 
I am able to perform. You know, too, that if driven beyond 
a certain point, I have twice your courage, while my reck- 
lessness is equal to your own. Now, attend ! If you will 
be at the gate of my — my home in an hour from now, you 
shall have the money, on these conditions : that you cease 
to prowl about the house and grounds while you remain at 
Middleton, and that you absent yourself entirely from this 
neighbourhood, within two days, never to return. I shall 
let you hear from me, so that if you are actually in want 
you can apply by letter, addressed to a post-office in London, 
from which I will take care to have it forwarded. But re- 
member ! If my — if you should ever annoy Mr. Lexley by 
a communication of any kind, or should offer the slightest 
suggestion that such a person exists as yourself, that 
moment I make the whole business public, without delay 
or reservation, and you will never be able to extort one 
shilling from any of us again.” 

“You’ve not played your hand badly,” he answered; 
“ but you wouldn’t have won so easy if I hadn’t been 
precious hard up. Well, it must be a bargian, I suppose. 
What ! You won’t shake hands on it ? Never mind. I 


SELF-SACFIFICE 


173 


can make myself up to look like a bishop, if I choose ; I 
was always good at disguises, and — who knows ? — some of 
these days I might put my legs under the same mahogany 
as you and your parson. Stranger things often happen in 
London. Jerusalem ! that would be a spree ! Perhaps he 
might introduce me to you : ‘ Mr. Dalton — Mrs. Lexley.’ 

‘ Glad to make your acquaintance, ma’am; have often 
heard of your excellent husband and yourself.’ Why it 
would be worth a thousand dollars ! Cheer up, Laura ; 
I’m only joking. Go and got the stuff, there’s a good lass ! 
I’ll hang about the gate till you bring it me, and then — 
honour bright — I’ll up stick and move farther down. 
What ? I didn’t ask you to kiss me ; but after so long a 
parting you might give us a shake of your hand.” 

WThether she did or not she never knew. She never knew 
how she got home, scared, blinded, stupefied, walking like a 
woman in a dream. She found herself starting up from a 
couch in her own pretty drawing-room, with a wild maddening 
fear that her husband might come home, and it would be 
too late. Once she almost hoped she heard his step, and 
resolved to tell him all, only imploring that she should not 
be wholly parted from him — never to see his face, never to 
hear his voice again ! 

But this was a weakness no sooner indulged than she 
felt ashamed of it. With an effort, like that which enables 
the suicide to make away with himself, she rushed upstairs, 
dipped her numbed forehead in cold water, opened the 
dressing-case in which she kept her little store of pocket- 
money, counted out twenty pounds, selected the few jewels 
of value she possessed, and put together a small packet of 
necessaries, such as she could take with her conveniently in 
the basket-carriage. 

Her mind was made up, but she so mistrusted her own 
resolution that she hurried these preparations fiercely, lest 
she should have time to reflect. With Peter’s trotting 
abilities she could reach the station in twenty minutes. 
There was a train for London at 7.50. Once on the 
railway she would be fairly out of reach, and it was im- 
possible, or, at least, most improbable, that Lexley could 
return before she started. 

The success of her project depended solely on herself, 


174 


UNCLE JOHN 


and this consideration, more than any other, gave her 
strength to carry it out. There would be all the rest of 
her life left for weeping ; but she swallowed her tears now, 
lest, giving way in the slightest, the flood should burst its 
embankments and disable her for the task. Yet she pitied 
herself too, while she reflected, not without a sad and tender 
pride, on the sacrifice she was making for him — the husband 
who was not her husband ; the man whom she loved so 
dearly, now that she must never look in his face again. 

The moment she recovered from the first shock of 
meeting Delaney it was plain what she must do. To such 
a nature as Lexley’s, disgrace, and above all self-reproach, 
would he far more terrible than death. To discover that 
for months he had been living in open sin with another 
man’s wife might drive him to insanity, and even suicide. 
He must never know the truth — must live on, bereaved, 
indeed, and sorrowful, but unstained by shame. She would 
sacrifice herself! She would burden his memory only as 
an object of hatred, scorn, and disgust, or worse still, drop 
out of his existence as if she had never belonged to it, like 
some fantastic dream that fades with light of day. The 
first thing to be thought of was escape. Let him believe 
her false, infamous, vilest of the vile. Perhaps the worse 
he thought of her the easier it would be for him to bear his 
affliction, the sooner he might teach his heart to forget. 
Delaney (she could not bring herself to think of him as her 
husband) might easily be silenced with a bribe. She would 
thus gain time. She wanted but a few hours, and her own 
resolution could accomplish the rest. Concealed in London, 
under an assumed name, she would he lost to both these 
men, and while Delaney would return to his old courses 
and play upon society for a livelihood, Lexley would go 
about his parish, sorrowful, heart-broken, but at least 
ignorant of the sad and shameful truth. She had no fear 
of any explanation between them ; the sharper had seemed 
so fully impressed with the case as she put it to him, — that 
his secret was only of value while undisclosed and used 
against herself ; like a bubble it would burst and vanish the 
moment it was touched. 

She sat down to write a few lines that might account for 
her sudden departure, but her hand shook so she was 


SELF-SACRIFICE 


115 


obliged to desist. She had never written to Lexley since 
their marriage. Who shall measure the anguish with 
which she looked on the sheet on which was scored an 
illegible scrawl, meant for “ Dearest Algy,” and laid the 
fragments in her bosom, against her heart ? 

But she walked downstairs, rang the bell and ordered 
Peter to be brought round with the basket-carriage, in a 
state of outward composure too perfect not to be assumed. 
Young Perigord, coming in to dress for dinner, thought he 
had never seen her looking so beautiful nor so pale. 

“ Can I do anything for you in London ? ” said she, 
giving him her hand. “I am going up by the 7.50, and 
must start at once, or I shall lose my train.’ ’ 

“ Nothing the matter ? ” he asked anxiously. 

“ A great deal the matter,” she answered, with a wan 
smile ; “ I am suffering horribly. And there is only one 
man who can do anything for acute neuralgia. Tell Mr. 
Lexley, with — with my love, that if I am not back to- 
morrow I shall write. Take good care of him when I am 
gone. Good-bye.” 

“You should try port wine,” said the young gentleman ; 
but even while he spoke she had vanished to get ready for 
the journey. 

She saw the housemaid ; she visited the laundry ; she 
gave directions to all the servants ; and not one of them 
observed anything remarkable in her appearance, except 
that “ missis ” looked paler than usual — an alteration they 
attributed to the heat. Even the cook, on whom she 
impressed some final instructions regarding dinner, could 
not but admire her knowledge of the details by which a 
man is made comfortable in his own home. 

Lastly, hearing Peter snorting at the front door, she 
stole into her husband’s dressing-room, where she looked 
over and smoothed the white bands in which he would 
preach the following Sunday. 

If he found them more limp than usual, he never asked 
the reason, nor knew that tears had rained upon them, 
bitterer than the fountains of Marah, from the eyes he had 
worshipped too fondly, that were already dim with longing 
to look into his own, if only once again. 


CHAPTER XIV 


MR. DALTON 

With money in his pocket, the spoils of his own predatory 
skill, Mr. Dalton, as he now chose to be called, was 
conscious of a genial flow of spirits that rendered him equal 
to any social occasion, requiring experience, audacity, or 
finesse. “Capital,” he said to himself, affectionately 
smoothing out the creases of a five-pound note as he spread 
it on the table, “ capital is all I require to be one of the 
most successful men of the day. Capital has induced me 
to embark on all my noblest enterprises, hut a little more 
capital has always been wanting to enable me to hold on 
and sweep the board in a fresh deal. Waiter, devilled 
kidneys, another egg, and a small glass of brandy.” 

Mr. Dalton was breakfasting in the best sitting-room of 
the Royal Hotel, Middleton. Any doubts entertained by 
its excellent landlady of her guest’s solvency had been set 
at rest by the production of a roll of notes, which he had 
counted with much ostentation, while consuming sherry and 
bitters in the bar ; causing her to endorse the opinion of 
John, the superannuated waiter, who pronounced Mr. 
Dalton “ haffable and quite the gentleman.” 

Such visitors are always well treated at a house of 
entertainment. They know what to order, when it should 
he served, and how much they ought to pay for it. Mr. 
Dalton’s breakfast seemed ample and luxurious, nor was he 
the man to lose any particle of present enjoyment because 
the future was uncertain ; and on the past it was better 
not to dwell. He finished his devilled kidneys to the last 
mouthful, he smacked his lips over the hot coffee, he tossed 
the small glass of brandy down his throat at one gulp, as if 


MB. DALTON 


177 


he was used to it, and it agreed with him. Throwing him- 
self hack in his chair he then lit one of the Royal's choicest 
cigars at sixpence — a fabrication of dried cabbage-leaves 
and opium, and proceeded to arrange his plans for the day. 

The result of these cogitations caused him to decide on 
immediate action, and the bell was rung for John forth- 
with. 

“ Waiter, bring me an ‘ Army List.’ ” 

“ ‘ Army List,’ sir ? yes, sir,” said John, and vanished ; 
well knowing there was nothing of the kind in the house. 

“ Boots,” however, was sent to borrow an old one from 
the circulating library, and Mr. Dalton, calling for pens, 
ink, and paper, studied it with much assiduity. Then he 
wrote three letters in different hands, with different 
signatures, addressed, “Francis Dalton, Esq., &c. <fec. 
&c.,” and marked “ On Her Majesty’s Service.” These 
he frayed and fingered at the edges, giving them the 
appearance of having been carried about in a coat-pocket, 
and also smudged the envelopes with a little dirt — a 
substance it was not difficult to find in any part of the 
hotel sitting-room. These preparations completed, the bell 
was rung for John once more. 

“ Waiter,” said the guest interrogatively, “ there are 
some cavalry in the barracks ?” 

“Yes, sir,” answered John, thinking it was high time 
the windows were cleaned, and wondering if he would have 
to clean them. 

“ What regiment, do you know? ” 

John had “ heard the number, but could not call it to 
mind — dragoons,” he believed. “ The officers were 
exceeding haffable, and, as far as he could see, hacted quite 
the gentleman ! ” 

“ Do they ever come down here ? ” 

“ Not often ; they kep’ theirselves to theirselves. There 

was a hexcellent billiard-table, too, and a ” skittle- 

ground, John would have added, but stopped, remembering 
that this delightful pastime was little in vogue with the 
higher classes. 

“ Can you tell me any of their names ?” continued Mr. 
Dalton, arranging his collar in the glass over the chimney- 
piece. 


12 


178 


UNCLE JOHN 


“Yes,” John could do that. “They was a Captain 
Nokes an’ a Captain Stokes.” He bore these in mind in 
consequence of their similarity. “ He see one of ’em, he 
couldn’t tell which, go by the house this morning, just after 
you rang your hell, sir, for breakfast.” 

The waiter then proceeded to take away plates, cups and 
saucers, with as much clatter as possible ; and rebuffed in 
his attempt to elicit any directions as to luncheon or 
dinner, retired in good order, despondent, yet not entirely 
yielding to defeat. 

From John, it was hopeless to expect more information ; 
hut, lounging up the main street of the town, Mr. Dalton 
passed a confectioner’s shop, containing a gaudy young 
lady behind a counter, and took advantage of his oppor- 
tunity. The gaudy young lady served him a glass of 
cherry-brandy, with a smirk that denoted no disinclination 
for a little gossip, and a happy compliment conveying 
certain delicate allusions to her eyes, colour, and personal 
charms, placed the pair on a footing of confidential inter- 
course at once. 

From this competent authority, Mr. Dalton learned that 
Middleton was graced by the presence of what she was 
pleased to call, “ the millingtary ; ” that a whole regiment, 
with its band, unhappily could not find room in the 
barracks, the only thing wanting to constitute perfect bliss ; 
that she believed “ as there was only two captains, at the 
present speakin’, and she couldn’t say whether there was 
any other officers or not ; but didn’t the gentleman (who, 
perhaps, belonged to the millingtary himself), didn’t he 
think a ’orse-soldier, particularly when he was riding his 
’orse, one of the most beautiful sights on earth ? ” 

“ Next to a pretty woman,” said Dalton, with such a 
bow as completed the conquest it had cost him two glasses 
of vile cherry-brandy to make. 

The gaudy young lady gave a little sigh when he lounged 
out of the shop, hut was presently comforted on reflecting, 
that if he remained at Middleton he was sure to look in 
again. 

Over the barracks, to which Mr. Dalton now took his 
way, reigned an utter stagnation of life and movement. 
Detachments, like regiments, become torpid at two periods 


MB. DALTON 


179 


of the day ; namely, ten minutes after the men’s dinners 
and ten minutes before afternoon parade. Even the sentry 
at the gate, a gigantic dragoon, redolent at ten paces of 
stables, tobacco, and pipe-clay, seemed in danger of com- 
mitting that heinous military offence, slumber on his post, 
and stared vacantly at the dry and dusty parade-ground, 
more like an automaton than a living man, who could rein 
a trooper, use a sword, and drink a gallon of beer at a 
sitting without its having the slightest effect. He yawned 
indeed once, and brought his spurs together with a clank, 
but these were the only tokens he betrayed of being alive. 

In the officers’ mess room, a bare apartment tenanted by 
countless flies, sat our friends Nokes and Stokes, brought 
to the lowest stage of depression and vacuity, as men to 
whom life had nothing now to offer but resignation to their 
lot. 

“ And we can’t have luncheon for an hour at least,” 
said the latter officer, stretching his limbs to their longest, 
and considering whether he should smoke another cigar. 
“ Such is destiny. I’ve done duty at Meerut, at New- 
bridge, at Portobello Barracks, and once for two weary 
months on the west coast of Ireland ; but of all forsaken 
places that can hold a dragoon, I never saw the equal of 
Middleton at this season of the year.*’ 

The other, who was smoking, nodded assent. 

“ I can’t read for more than two hours a day,” continued 
Stokes, lashing himself into energy, while he recapitulated 
his grievances ; “I can’t learn the fiddle, for I haven’t the 
patience ; nor the flute, for I haven’t wind. I can’t play 
chess, right hand against left, nor cut with you for six- 
pences, nor drink Badminton, nor even smoke — all day long. 
I wonder what fellows did in the Bastile ? One hears of 
them kept there for years ; I dare say it wasn’t so dull 
as this place. Why can’t we he quartered here in the 
hunting season? That’s the War Office, I suppose. 
Another of their precious civilian mulls ! That reminds 
me. Why shouldn’t w T e go and call on the Dennisons, at 
Plumpton Priors ? ” 

“Not at home,” answered his friend. “Gone to 
London. Saw Mrs. D. in Pall Mall the day before 
yesterday.” 


180 


UNCLE JOHN 


“ Done again ! ” replied Stokes. “ Then there’s nothing 
for it but to take a walk — I hate taking a walk ! — or to lie 
down and sleep till dinner-time. It’s as bad as going 
round the Cape in a transport ! ” 

“Worse,” observed Nokes. But even while he spoke 
there came relief in sight. 

Mr. Dalton, who had so arranged his limited wardrobe as 
to present that semi-sporting appearance which is attain- 
able by means of scanty trousers, a very stiff collar, and a 
forward set of the hat, was now crossing the parade-ground, 
with an obvious design of taking the officers’ quarters by 
storm. Stokes, being first to notice him, leaped from his 
chair as though vitality were restored by the very sight of 
a visitor, and watched his approach from the mess-room 
window, with a running commentary on the dress, 
manners, and general appearance of this welcome arrival. 

“ Parson ? No ; too good a hat. Sawbones ? Don’t 
think it ; would be in a greater hurry. Manager of county 
bank ? Too little stomach. Manager of provincial theatre? 
Too much, collar. The race lies between three : swell 
photographer, surveyor from the Board of Works, or man 
with a horse to sell. Lay you six to five you don’t name 
the winner.” 

“Lay you five to four it’s none of them,” answered 
Nokes ; “ but we’ll have him in and liquor him up, whoever 
he is.” 

By this time Mr. Dalton had reached the door, and was 
feigning to look for a bell that did not exist. A ubiquitous 
mess-waiter, in a clean linen jacket, extricated him from 
this difficulty, and presently appeared with the visitor’s card 
on a salver. 

Stokes handed it to Nokes. “Never saw the name 
before,” said he. “ Don’t know him from Adam ; do 
you ? ” 

Nokes was a man of reflection. “ Might be a chap from 
the village,” he suggested, “ with a writ for Fluffy.” 

“ Fluffy,” his junior subaltern, a handsome young fellow, 
given to spending too much money, was playing cricket 
eleven miles off at that moment. 

“ Nonsense,” replied Stokes. “ Fluffy told me yesterday 
old Fluff has parted freely and squared everything.” 


ME. DALTON 


181 


“ Then show the gentleman in,” said Nokes, and while 
he spoke Mr. Dalton made his bow in the doorway. 

Such a life as Delaney’s, exacting habits of constant 
observation and unremitting self-restraint, makes a man at 
home in any society except that of the real English lady, 
w r hose instinct, rather than her perception, enables her to 
detect the baser metal beneath the spurious glitter by 
which it is overlaid. Having lived with all classes in his 
checkered career, from Russian princes and Wallachian 
boyards to Mexican cattle-drivers and red-shirted miners 
wielding pickaxe and crowbar in search of Californian gold, 
he had learned to humour the tastes and prejudices of his 
companions, so as to keep their intellects amused and their 
suspicions lulled, while he emptied their pockets for his own 
advantage at his own convenience. 

One who boasted he was a match for a Yankee Jew of 
Scottish extraction, had little to fear in a contest of fraud 
or cunning, from two free-handed, frank-hearted, outspoken 
officers of dragoons. 

Mr. Dalton put into his greeting just so much deference as 
was compatible with a manly honesty of character, showing 
no little tact in the frank bearing that implied similarity of 
tastes and pursuits with his entertainers. 

“I took the liberty,” said he, “of sending in my card, 
as it seemed hopeless to find any military man who could 
favour me with an introduction to the officers of the 100th 
Dragoons. Had it been in the hunting or shooting season 
I could have made your acquaintance, gentlemen, in a 
pleasanter manner. I have the honour of speaking, I 
think, to Captain Stokes and Captain Nokes.” 

Both officers bowed, and the latter amused himself in 
speculating how the visitor would find out which was 
which. 

“Happening to pass through Middleton,” continued 
Dalton, “I could not lose the opportunity of paying my 
respects to your distinguished regiment. There are not 
many attractions in this place, and I am fortunate to have 
found you at home.” 

Here Stokes interrupted him to offer sherry, which was 
accepted and produced at once. 

“It is certainly dull enough,” continued the visitor. “I 


182 


UNCLE JOHN 


have been knocking about at different times nearly all over 
the world, and I tijiink I never saw people less inclined to 
open their eyes and keep moving. If it wasn’t for your 
fellows, who are of the smartest, I verily believe the whole 
town would go fast asleep. It’s hard on officers to be 
quartered here at this season, though a friend of mine told 
me he liked it immensely in the winter.” 

“ That must have been little Straight of the Lancers,” 
exclaimed Stokes. “ He had the detachment two years 
ago, and has sworn by the place ever since.” 

Dalton feared no hazard at any game he played. “ You 
know Straight?” said he. “What a good fellow he is, 
and what a nice weight ? Rides well too, and seems un- 
commonly fond of hunting.” 

He had never heard of Straight in his life, but a bow 
drawn at a venture sent its arrow home. 

“ Capital fellow ! ” echoed Stokes, whose manner became 
friendly and familiar at once. “ I wish there was a chance 
of his dropping in here to-day. Are you staying at the 
Royal ? ” 

“I am indeed,” answered Dalton, “for my sins. And 
very badly they do me.” 

“Of course you’ll have luncheon with us?” urged the 
captain. “ It will be ready in ten minutes. We can give 
you something fit to eat, and that’s about all we can do for 
you in this beastly hole.” 

Dalton excused himself like a man who does not wish to 
be taken at his word, expressing fear of trespassing on his 
host’s valuable time. 

Stokes burst into' a laugh. “ If you only knew,” said he, 
“how we are put to it to get through the day, that is the 
last reason you would offer. Why, Nokes there has smoked 
seven cigars since morning stables, only to keep himself 
awake.” 

“ Five,” said Nokes. “Here comes luncheon.” 

A plentiful meal in the middle of a hot summer’s day, 
washed down with much sherry, and succeeded by full- 
flavoured tobacco, disposes a man to think favourably of his 
neighbour, and to be well satisfied with his lot. 

Both Stokes and Nokes found their new companion very 
much to their taste, and regretted that the absent “Fluffy” 


MB. DALTON 


183 


should he debarred from such agreeable society. The visitor 
seemed to have been everywhere, to have done everything, 
and to know everybody. His acquaintance with military 
life, of which, though superficial, he made the most, excited 
their astonishment and interest. 

“ You’ve been in the service, haven’t you? ” said Stokes. 
“ I thought you were no civilian the first moment I saw you 
walk across the barrack-yard.” 

“Not exactly,” answered the other with the air of a 
vieille moustache. “At least, never in our own, but I 
have seen a good deal of foreign troops, and was always 
a bit of a soldier at heart.” 

“Never took the shilling?” said Nokes. “I wish I 
hadn’t. It’s the worst game out. Have some more 
sherry.” 

The speaker, a good persistent grumbler of the true mess- 
room pattern, could no more have lived out of a barrack- 
yard than a fish can live out of water. 

Dalton helped himself to sherry and lit another cigar. 
His entertainers could do no less, and all three began to 
think Middleton was not such a bad place as it seemed. 

“ The fact is,” continued the visitor, after a liberal gulp 
of sherry, “ I have a great deal of time on my hands during 
the summer months. They say an old coachman loves the 
crack of the whip, so I while it away with military literature 
— the history of our own and other armies. I have come 
lately on several anecdotes illustrating the extraordinary 
dash and gallantry of the 100th Dragoons in the Peninsula 
and elsewhere. I expect Boney liked them less than any 
regiment in your service. It struck me^hat the army really 
requires a short but compendious history of this gallant 
corps, and I have taken the matter in hand. Do me the 
favour, Captain Nokes, to run your eye over two or three 
letters I have received from officers promising me assistance. 
I think if I fail, it will not be for want of material.” 

Kemoving the cigar from his mouth Nokes accepted the 
letters, and thus identified himself to the visitor. 

He perused them calmly and judicially, returning them 
with the observation : 

“ Jones is the only one I know. He’s not much of a 
fellow for book-learning.” 


184 


UNCLE JOHN 


“ Unfortunately he did not write that letter himself,” 
returned Dalton, reflecting that to know Jones might mean 
to know his hand. “ He was extremely unwell when I saw 
him, and dictated his letter to a lady who seemed to he 
staying in the house. 

“That was Jones, all over,” answered the other, and 
Dalton felt he had played a winning card. 

“ Now the weather is too warm for composition,” he con- 
tinued pleasantly, “ and I did not come here to bother you 
two gentlemen with my literary labours ; but if your adjutant 
or some of your old sergeants could furnish me with any 
regimental details I should be really grateful. Everything 
connected with such a corps as yours is interesting to the 
military public. I shall hope to bring my book out in a 
few months, and shall take the liberty of presenting your 
mess with half-a-dozen copies.” The officers looked at 
each other. 

“ You’d like to go round the stables,” said Stokes. “ We 
can show you some useful horses, and a capital plan our 
colonel invented for the men’s kits. Of course you’ll dine 
with us afterwards. We shall be four at mess, and though 
it’s not a lively party, at least we can give you better liquor 
than they have at the Royal .” 

“ If it is half as good as the company I shall be tempted 
to drink too much,” was the answer. “ In the meantime I 
should like very much to see your horses and valises, and 
to hear a little more about this new system of drill.” 

So the three strolled round the barracks from canteen to 
kitchen, Dalton expressing approval, not too unqualified, of 
everything that was pointed out. A few judicious remarks 
on high saddles and severe bits, founded on his Mexican 
experiences, denoted a kindred spirit ; and as he had the 
tact to fire a double-barrelled compliment at men and horses 
by observing that he never saw such well-bred animals, able 
to carry such heavy weights, he got through the afternoon 
without exposing his utter ignorance of all the details that 
constitute efficiency in a dragoon. 

He felt it a relief, however, when the hour of dinner 
approached, and breathed more freely as he made the neces- 
sary change of toilet in his hotel. 

“Well out of that,” said he, tying a clean w r hite 


MR DALTON 


185 


“ starcher ” with exceeding care. “It’s all plain sailing 
now; but I must be a little careful with the wine; that 
sherry of theirs is so infernally strong.” 

“ What do you suppose he is? ” asked Stokes of Nokes, 
working diligently at his sleek head with a pair of hard 
hair-brushes. 

“Not what you said,” answered Nokes, from a front 
room, carrying on the conversation through two open doors 
and a passage. 

“ Well, he hasn’t tried to sell us a horse yet,” returned 
the other ; “ though there’s no saying what he may do after 
dinner. He’s not a civilian, and he’s not a regular soldier 
either. Sometimes I fancied he might have been in the 
Confederate army, only he would have swaggered about it. 
The fellow’s a gentleman, I think .” 

“ Not so sure of that,” was the reply. “ I think he’d 
receive the allowance if you ran him among thorough-bred 
ones. I beg his pardon,” added Nokes, turning from the 
window whence he observed the individual in question enter 
the barrack-yard. “He is a gentleman. I’m satisfied 
now.” 

“ Why ? ” said Stokes. 

“ Because he’s got evening clothes ! ” 

There was no contesting so indisputable a qualification, 
and the little party sat down to dinner in perfect harmony 
and comfort. Fluffy and his brother subaltern did not turn 
up, the former having prolonged his innings and the latter 
missed his train. 

Three people, even under the most favourable circum- 
stances of wine, cookery, and conversation, cannot well 
spend more than a couple of hours over their meal. With 
“ watch-setting ” came the second bottle of claret, and when 
that had been consumed coffee was served with the inevitable 
cigar. Both Stokes and Nokes had done justice to their 
fare, while the visitor, though he drank less freely than 
the others, appeared the most “ elevated ” of the three. It 
was his proposal that they should adjourn to the hotel. 

“ I am an early fellow,” said he, “ though I don’t mind 
sitting up now and then in such pleasant company. What 
say you to a smoke in the cool fresh air, a brandy-and-soda 
at the Royal, and, perhaps, a game of billiards ? The waiter 


186 


UNCLE JOHN 


tells me they have a slate table, and it is not impossible 
that he speaks the truth.” 

Such a proposal was sure to be accepted. In ten minutes 
the three were strolling into the billiard-room of the Boyal, 
as the head clerk at the bank and the postmaster, who had 
finished a game of a hundred up for a bottle of sherry, 
strolled out. 

Dalton, who already knew both these worthies by sight, 
made his entrance, holding one captain by the arm, and 
conversing familiarly with the other. The hank clerk never 
doubted, as he stated subsequently on oath, hut that this 
was another army gentleman taking his pleasure in plain 
clothes. 

Brandy- and- soda goes very well with billiards, but to- 
gether they make people forgetful of time. Stokes matched 
himself against the visitor, while his brother officer looked 
on, and a couple of games, fifty up, were finished off before 
either gentleman felt he had settled to his play. Of these 
the captain won both with hut little to spare, and became 
a couple of sovereigns richer by the transaction. He was 
in high spirits, for Stokes liked billiards, and everybody 
likes winning. The two sovereigns also were paid at once, 
when Nokes took the cue, beating Dalton, who never got a 
break, as both officers observed, “ in a common trot.” 

“ I’ll play you for a fiver,” said the loser, with some 
semblance of irritation, only kept down by courtesy. “ You 
wouldn’t have beat me so easy on any other table.” 

Nokes accepted, and lost by two. The other’s play 
seemed very uncertain, and he attributed several palpable 
blunders to the wine he drank at the barracks. 

“ You’ve the best of me, I think,” said he, thoughtfully 
chalking his cue. “ Never mind ; I’ll play you double or 
quits.” 

So they played double or quits, and again Dalton won. 
Stokes now took up the running, and offered to back himself 
against the visitor for ten pounds. 

“ You will think me very slow,” said the other, “ but I 
had rather not play for quite so large a stake. A fiver, if 
you please ; but don’t you agree with me that is quite 
enough to win or lose amongst friends ? ” 

So they played for a fiver, and again Dalton won, though 


MB. DALTON 


187 


only by the execution of a difficult stroke at the finish. It 
was now past one o’clock. John’s weary warning face had 
appeared more than once at the door, and with many ex- 
pressions of goodwill the gentlemen parted for the night. 

“I start early to-morrow,” said the visitor, “and must 
wish you good-bye now, with hearty thanks for your 
hospitality and kindness. I never spent a pleasanter day 
in my life.” Then they shook hands, and the two officers 
strolled home together. 

“ That’s a broad hint about settling,” observed Nokes. 
“ I shall send my servant down with a cheque the first thing 
in the morning.” 

“ So shall I,” said Stokes, reflecting that money was 
scarce, and though he had left two sovereigns and a handful 
of silver on his dressing-table, so large a sum as five pounds 
would necessitate a draft on his agent. 

“He’s a deuced pleasant fellow,” continued the former. 
“ But there’s something about him too that isn’t quite the 
clean potato. What a beggar it is to talk ! ” 

“ Did you see the scar on his left hand? ” asked Stokes. 
“ It looked deep enough for a sabre cut. I wonder whether 
it is ? ” 

“ That’s how they brand them in the galleys,” answered 
his friend. “I’ve seen worse players at billiards,” he 
added after a pause. 

“He’s a good style,” said Stokes, “but I call him 
awfully loose and uncertain in his execution. We gave him 
a skinful. It’s quite possible, old man, that he was a trifle 
screwed.” 

“Not he,” replied the other. And I am inclined to 
think Nokes was right. 

The Middleton Bank opened at 9 a.m., and while our two 
captains, assisted by Fluffy and his brother subaltern, were 
manoeuvring the squadron with considerable pomp on the 
race-course, Mr. Dalton presented their respective cheques. 
The clerk, who had seen the three billiard-players together 
the night before, cashed them without hesitation, wishing 
in his heart he could afford to wager as freely on his 
favourite game. Buttoning in his breast-pocket Bank of 
England notes to the amount of a hundred for the one and 
seventy-five pounds for the other, Mr. Dalton congratulated 


188 


UNCLE JOHN 


himself on having devoted some spare hours to the art of 
caligraphy as applied to the mutation of written characters 
and figures. He felt his studies had not been thrown 
away. 

A train started for London at ten, and an omnibus left 
the hotel for the station at five minutes before the hour. 
Boots, who helped with the luggage, receiving a shilling 
from Mr. Dalton on his departure, expressed a hope, which 
was never realised, that they might soon see their visitor at 
the Royal again. 


CHAPTER XV 


DESOLATE 

We all know the vague sensation of dismay with which we 
wake in the morning after an event that has occasioned us 
grief, vexation, or inconvenience. The man within the 
man, who never goes to sleep, nor forgets himself, nor loses 
his head, nor fails to remind us what fools we are, has the 
clearest perception of that which took place yesterday, but 
as he can only admonish us through the medium of our 
faculties, until these are thoroughly aroused we escape with 
a dull sense of depression and misgiving, akin to nightmare, 
but wanting even so much of reality as there is in a dream. 

The familiar objects in his bed-chamber looked strange to 
Lexley without her presence who had made the comfort no 
less than the romance of his everyday life. He rose early and 
went out into the morning air, striving to shake off a feeling 
of gloom and despondency that common sense told him was 
utterly unreasonable, and that must be dispelled immediately 
on the arrival of the post. 

Breakfasting with his pupil, the conversation could not 
but turn on his wife’s departure, and his anxiety was no 
doubt relieved by their joint speculations ; but the lad 
observed his tutor’s cheek grow pale when the postman 
passed the window, and liked him, I think, all the better 
for the weakness. 

Two letters were brought to the clergyman, neither of 
which was in Laura’s handwriting, and he rose from his 
chair to conceal the spasm of pain that passed across his 
face at this disappointment. 

“ Of course there’s no news of Mrs. Lexley, sir,” said the 
youth’s clear cheerful voice from the breakfast-table. “ She 

189 


190 


UNCLE JOHN 


didn’t leave here till the country letters had gone out of 
London. I hope you’ll have a good account by the second 
post, even if she don’t come back herself. One misses a 
lady awfully at breakfast,” added this young philosopher. 
“ Men always put too much water in the teapot for a second 
cup.” 

“ Of course!” exclaimed the tutor, brightening. “I 
never thought of that. What an idiot I was to forget about 
the London post ! No doubt she will be back this after- 
noon, and you shall have your tea made to-morrow on the 
first principles of science. Now let’s go, and get our work 
done. Afterwards, I shall drive to the station, and meet 
the down express at four o’clock.” 

Lexley was a conscientious man, with a good deal of that 
hard-bitten English resolution to encounter pain, mental or 
physical, which we call pluck. He tried nobly to do his 
duty by the young gentleman whom he instructed, but 
found it even more difficult to fix his own attention than 
his pupil’s, on the matter in hand. He worked doggedly 
on however by the clock, and felt, if possible, a keener 
sense of relief than did Perigord when luncheon-time came 
and studies were over for the day. It is needless to say 
that Peter was required to put his best foot foremost, or 
that the basket-carriage arrived at the station three-quarters 
of an hour too soon. 

The down express was five minutes late. He thought it 
would never come. How his heart beat as it glided along- 
side the platform! How pale his cheek grew, and how 
sad he felt when it produced only the rector of an adjoining 
parish and Mr. Bunt, the cattle-dealer, who never seemed 
to buy or sell cattle, but came and went from Smithfield 
regularly twice a week ! 

She could not be down to-day, that was clear; but, of 
course, there would be a letter by the second post. The 
second post arrived. So did the letter. He read it 
amongst the roses, and this is what it said : 

“ Think of me as badly as you can. It will take months, 
I know ; but pray night and morning only to forget me. I 
am never coming back. You will never see me nor hear of 
me again. Search will be utterly useless. I have chosen 
my own part and mean to abide by it. You must never 


DESOLATE 


191 


mention the name of her who has only brought you shame 
and sorrow, but who loves you still. You must learn to 
hate her. Hate her — despise her — forget her. Only, some 
day, when time has brought consolation, and you are happy 
with another, remember, that she who now writes this with 
a steady hand, would have given more than life for your 
sake, and that the other one cannot love you so fondly as 
Laura.” 

A man shot through the heart, falls on his face, not on 
his hack, and in the same way there is an instinct in strong 
natures that resists the more bravely, the more intolerable 
the pain, the more overwhelming the blow. Lexley folded 
his letter with fingers that trembled not, and smiled a grim 
smile without a quiver of the lip, while he plucked one of 
the roses from her favourite tree, and pulled it to pieces, 
leaf by leaf, repeating unconsciously, the touching prayer of 
King Lear : 

“ Oh ! let me not be mad — not mad, sweet heaven ! ” 

Then he retired to his study, and wrote to the father of his 
pupil. That pupil coming down to dinner was scared by 
his tutor’s appearance as they met in the hall. Lexley’s 
face looked white and drawn ; there was a dull stare in his 
eye, like that of a suffering dumb animal, and he seemed 
ten years older since morning.” 

“ Something very painful has taken place,” said he. “ It 
has decided me to ask your father’s permission for you to 
return home to-morrow. You can drive the pony-carriage 
to the station. God bless you, my boy ; you have been a 
pleasant companion, a true gentleman, and, I believe, a 
sincere friend. We shall not meet again, but I shall always 
think kindly of you. What has happened leaves me no 
alternative hut solitude; at all events, for a considerable 
time, or I would not feel compelled to say good-bye.” 

“ Can I do anything, sir ? ” asked the lad, with tears in 
his eyes. 

“Nothing,” answered Lexley; and they sat down to 
dinner in silence. 

When their meal was over, the clergyman retired to his 
study, and Perigord, somewhat dismayed, heard him lock 
himself in. 


192 


UNCLE JOHN 


“ Here’s a go ! ” reflected this young gentleman ; whose 
thoughts, like his conversation, were more or less couched 
in his own vernacular. “ Mrs. L. bolted, no doubt ! and 
with that chap who was always hanging about and peeping 
into the garden over the hedge. Well, there is no accounting 
for women ! I thought she was the right sort, if ever there 
was one. And such an ugly beggar, too. No more to be 
compared to Lexley than a sandman’s donkey to the 
winner of the Derby. And now, what’s to become of me ? 
The governor will be awfully put out. He won’t like my 
being at home by myself, and he hates having me in London. 
There’s nothing else for it, though. I shall be swelling it 
in the Park the day after to-morrow. Jemima will lend me 
her mare, I dare say. Shouldn’t wonder if I was to have a 
ride with Annie Dennison. Won’t that be jolly ? But I’m 
sorry for Lexley, too. He’s a thundering good one. I shall 
hate the next fellow who coaches me, I know.” 

Then he smoked his short pipe, with his head out of 
window, and turned complacently into bed, meditating on 
the Park, the theatre, Jemima’s bay mare, and the public- 
school matches, at Lord’s. 

Under the same roof, separated from him only by half-a 
dozen steps and a partition-wall, there was a struggle going 
on, as for life and death, no less fierce and protracted than 
his who wrestled of old at Penuel, through the livelong night 
“ even to the breaking of the day.” 

Lexley neither slept or rested, but passed his hours of 
agony pacing to and fro in his chamber, or flinging himself 
down on his knees in prayer. Only thus, and in a strength 
that was not his own, could he pass through the ordeal ; 
but he did pass through it, and when the summer sun arose 
it shone upon a man heart-broken but resigned. The lesson 
his duty bade him teach others, had not been lost on himself, 
and he tried to drink the bitter draught calmly, as knowing 
by whose hand it was pressed to his lips. 

When the housemaid went to make his bed, it was smooth 
as she had left it the day before. 

“ He haven’t slept much, haven’t master,” said the 
woman, shaking up the pillows. “ Dear, dear, I’m afraid 
now as his trouble’s a’most too much for him to bear ! ” 

And so it would have been had he tried to carry it without 


DESOLATE 


193 


assistance. Had he not lain down his burden at the feet 
of One who never fails to stoop and succour such as plead 
for aid, grovelling helplessly in the dust ? 

On Lexley’s thoughts and speculations, as they suc- 
ceeded each other through the watches of that dreary night, 
it would be painful to dwell. With all the blindness of one 
who loves, with all the self-deception to which the human 
heart is prone, it seemed impossible, in the face of his wife’s 
letter, to put any construction on her flight but one. It was 
obvious that she had left him of her own free-will, and not 
alone. While the fond expressions of attachment in which 
she bade him never forget her, did but dip in venom a shaft 
that her hand, and hers only, could have buried in his 
heart. Many a time during the struggle his natural im- 
pulses rose in their strength, not to be denied, and he 
longed to have his hand on the villain’s throat who had 
covered him with this dark shame, inflicted on him this 
great injury ; but ever with the human longing for vengeance 
came the memory of a divine face, crowned with its diadem 
of suffering, that smiled forgiveness on those who inflicted 
His torture, even in the agony of a cruel and shameful death. 
Then he would fall once more on his knees and pray. 

But he never shed a tear. No, not even when morning 
broke, and he felt his petitions had been so answered, that 
he was able to think calmly of the woman who injured him, 
and to hope that she might never undergo anything like 
the misery of which she had been the cause. His eye-balls 
were dry and seared, while an iron band seemed to gird his 
forehead, tighter and less endurable every moment, as day 
wore on ; for the lapse of time brought no respite, no 
cessation, and to this vigorous nature was denied the 
solace of weaker sufferers, who find refuge in uncon- 
sciousness or seek relief in tears. 

His pupil had started to meet an early train. When 
the clergyman came down to his empty breakfast-room he 
realised what it was to be alone. 

The family worship with which it was his custom to 
begin the day assembled the servants as usual. With a 
steady voice the master of the modest household offered up 
his prayers for the future, his thanksgivings for the past. 
The domestics, who instinctively recognised the presence of 

13 


194 


UNCLE JOHN 


some great and discreditable calamity, suspecting, to use 
their own words, that there was “ something up along o’ mis- 
sus ! ” wondered at his self-command, ascribing it, not to true 
courage, but to hardness of heart. He would have received 
more pity had he taken his punishment with less fortitude. 

A moment’s leisure in such a condition meant simply a 
moment’s additional pain. He dared not as yet confront 
his misery, nor consider in what manner it would be well 
to bear himself in this crushing humiliation. He must take 
refuge for the present in work, and try to be thankful that his 
duty called upon him daily, and almost hourly, for exertion. 

In the course of weeks, months, perhaps years, he thought, 
though the burden could never be lightened, he would have 
learned to bear it better, and an end must come at last, 
bringing with it calm and oblivion in the grave. 

Like all men who devote themselves to a particular calling, 
— and his, as the most sacred, could not but be also the 
most engrossing — he had been accustomed to postpone every 
other consideration to the requirements of his profession. 
His first duty was to his parish, and even now, in the wreck 
of all earthly honour and happiness, the ruin of name and 
fame and hearth and home, he turned from sheer habit to 
the necessities of his cure as a colonel attends the parade of 
his regiment, or the captain of a line-of-battle ship appears 
on his own quarter-deck at twelve o’clock. It was his one 
chance of dulling, if ever so little, the pain that ate away 
his heart. 

From cottage to cottage, from homestead to homestead, 
he visited those who were in sickness, need, sorrow, or 
affliction. Here pleading with a drunkard, there com- 
forting a cripple, encouraging the honest to persevere, and 
for the black sheep of his flock finding counsel rather than 
reproof. Ill news flies fast, even in a country parish, and 
it was gall and wormwood to him that not one of his 
humble friends inquired, as usual, after “his good lady.” 
But when, in the porch of an outlying cottage, inhabited 
by a rat-catcher of poaching notoriety, the deaf wife enlarged 
on Mrs. Lexley’s many good qualities — her charity, her cour- 
tesy, her condescension, and her beauty — the cup overflowed. 
He had taken up his hat and was half a mile off before 
Mrs. Sheepshanks, diligently smoothing her apron, could ex- 


DESOLATE 


195 


tricate herself from the metaphor in which she got involved 
while comparing the “ parson’s” handsome helpmate to 
hollyhocks in a garden and a queen on her throne. 

He had visited this remote and humble dwelling to-day 
because it was out of the direct road to Oakley, where Jim 
Loder lay dead, and whither he was bound. Had he gone 
there from his own house by the shortest way, he must 
have passed the stile at which he had last seen his wife. 
All his courage, all his fortitude, were as yet unequal to 
encounter such a trial. 

An hour spent in prayer with the bereaved mother. A 
long and somewhat stern argument with the old keeper, 
who could not be brought to accept his affliction, and 
persistently refused to acknowledge that “whatever is is 
right,” bringing forward many sound and pertinent reasons 
in support of his own views, that “most as is seems a 
muddle.” One look at the draped motionless form, lying 
solemnly in the darkened bedroom, took him for a time out 
of himself. Starting to walk home, he seemed to realise 
how empty and unsubstantial a matter is life — how fleeting, 
uncertain, and unreal. Eight-and-forty hours ago it had 
been so precious, that he hardly dared confront the possi- 
bility of its termination, and now, death would be more 
than welcome, if only as a relief from the bodily suffering 
that oppressed him — the feeling as if his brow was com- 
pressed in a hand of red-hot iron, that scorched and seared 
his brain. 

It was a glorious summer’s afternoon, rich in warmth, 
beauty, and fragrance ; the wheat, high in blade, rippled 
to a darker green under the gentle breeze ; the meadows, 
as yet uncut, were deep in herbage, a lark sang merrily 
aloft, and a thrush carolled sweetly below. The landscape 
glowed in beauty, the air seemed loaded with fragrance. It 
was just such a summer’s afternoon as that other — forty- 
eight hours ago — only forty-eight hours ago ! 

A change was coming over him, a physical change, of 
which he could not but feel conscious. He had watched, 
fasted, and laboured hard ; now, in the weakness caused by 
exhaustion, he experienced a dull torpid sensation that was 
positive relief. He would no longer avoid the spot he had 
feared to approach in the morning ; he would sit and rest 


196 


UNCLE JOHN 


on the very stile which he had last seen her. How long 
ago. Years was it ? or days ? He had lost count. What 
matter ? What mattered anything now ? Did men feel 
like this before death? or was his brain failing him? 
Again King Lear’s petition, “ not mad, sweet heaven,” 
rose to his lips. 

He did not know how long he had been leaning against 
the stile, when some children came wearily down the lane ; 
their little feet scraped up the dust, their little voices 
prattled softly as they approached. It seemed as if the 
little people themselves were tired, or sorrowful, or both. 
Lexley loved children; most men do who are good for 
anything. It roused and took him out of himself, 
to observe these small wayfarers, whose progress was 
necessarily slow ; for a child’s eyes and ears are alive to 
all the influences of nature, and it is never in too great a 
hurry to stop and thoroughly examine anything that excites 
its curiosity. 

The leader of this group was a young person six years 
of age, at most, with round blue eyes and a resolute little 
face, combining a certain shrewdness and power of obser- 
vation with the simplicity natural to childhood. She 
marshalled and seemed to command the party, whose march, 
however, was considerably impeded by a little straggler, 
lately learning to walk, that lost its foothold and subsided 
into a sitting posture once at least in every twenty yards. 
But for this pigmy, the guardian who supported its faltering 
steps would surely have seemed the smallest creature ever 
seen out of a cradle. 

When the procession drew near, Lexley recognised its 
leader as one of his Sunday scholars, by no means the 
least promising of her class. The child blushed red while 
she met his eye, and made him as demure and majestic a 
little curtsey as was compatible with a weighty bundle she 
carried in her hand. 

“Why, Patty,” said the pastor, “ what are you doing so 
far from home, and how did you ever get here with so 
heavy a load as that?” 

The soft brow clouded, and the rosy mouth quivered as 
if a burst of tears were not far off, but Patty kept them 
bravely down, and murmured her answer in an audible 


DESOLATE 


197 


whisper that caused the eyes of her followers to open wide 
with admiration. 

“ Please, sir, it’s Polly, and — and, please, sir, mother 
bade me take her down to Farmer Veal.” 

“Who is Polly?” asked the clergyman ; and the little 
maid, melting at last into tears, poured out the history of 
her sorrows without restraint. 

It seemed that Polly — a cross-grained parrot with a 
highly-developed talent for bad language — had excited the 
admiration of Farmer’s Veal’s wife, who, coveting the 
possession of this treasure, had hinted more than once she 
would like to become its purchaser. Patty’s father was a 
labouring man, earning low wages, with many mouths to 
feed. Times were hard, and the sum of ten shillings was 
not to be despised, so Patty had been commissioned to 
effect the sale, though her own poor little heart seemed 
ready to break for the loss of her favourite. This piteous 
tale was narrated in the simplest language, varied by an 
occasional sob, the bystanders, none of whom stood three 
feet high, listening with exceeding gravity, but making no 
comment. 

“ May I peep? ” said the parson, and, permission being 
accorded, Polly, looking sour and sulky, was disclosed to 
view. Lexley felt in his waistcoat pocket, and fingered a 
half sovereign. 

“ Did your mother promise the bird to Mrs. Veal ? ” said 
he, “ or may you sell it to anybody else ? ” 

“ No ; mother hadn’t promised it to nobody. But Mrs. 
Veal would likely buy the bird, because as it was so 
beautiful ” — and again the blue eyes filled with tears. 

“I'll buy your bird,” continued the parson; “there’s 
half-a-sovereign for it.” 

The little audience gathered round, opening their eyes 
wider than before. 

“ Thank you, sir,” answered Patty, sorrowfully enough, 
and put the cage in his hand. 

“ Now, Patty,” said the parson, “ you are a good little 
girl, and I am going to make you a present. Tell mother 
Mr. Lexley bought Polly, and gave it to you for your own 
— you understand ? your very own — to keep, and do what 
you like with,” 


198 


UNCLE JOHN 


The child flung herself on her knees, wrapped her arms 
round the cage, and rocking it to and fro, exclaimed, 
“ Oh, Polly ! Polly ! I do believe I shall never say good- 
bye to you as long as I live ! ” 

Then she took her departure, with a shy upward look 
at her benefactor, that was worth a whole vocabulary of 
thanks, marching off in triumph surrounded by her suite, 
and hugging her treasure in a close embrace. 

Lexley waited till they were out of sight, then passed 
into the meadow, threw himself on the ground, burying his 
face in the long grass, and burst into a passion of weeping 
— unaccountable, not to he kept back, and of which he 
felt cruelly ashamed. But when he rose to his feet, the 
iron band seemed to have been loosened about his forehead, 
and he knew that he was in his right mind. 


CHAPTER XVI 


PLAY 

“ Yes, I’m very glad to see you, even amongst these 
awfully smart people, and you must tell me all about dear 
Middleton. General, let me introduce Mr. Perigord. Mr. 
Perigord, this is my General — General Pike ! ” 

Annie Dennison, wearing the best-fitting and bluest of 
habits, and the neatest of hats, stopped her horse in its 
canter down the Ride, to shake hands with Lexley’s late 
pupil, a compliment that young gentleman accepted with 
many professions of gratitude for her condescension. 

It was spring-tide in the fashionable world ; that period 
of the summer in which the weather is sure to be at its 
hottest, and space to turn round is not to be found for love 
or money in the west end of London. The season had 
reached its culminating point ; acquaintances left off asking 
each other, “ When did you come to town ? ” but had not 
yet began to inquire, “When do you go away? ” Balls, 
drums, breakfasts, every resort for those amusements which 
so often fail to amuse, was crowded to overflowing ; a stall 
at the French play costs more than a French bonnet, and 
for an opera-box people paid as much as would have pur- 
chased a cow. Everybody complained of the heat, the 
crush, the hurry, worry, and discomfort ; but everybody 
went everywhere just the same. 

No place would be fuller than the Park. The footway, 
fairly impassable for the throng, was choked with a mass of 
broadcloth, false hair, and muslin. The penny chairs were 
occupied, every one, and the men with the badges, who 
have never in my recollection owned to a good season, 
were undoubtedly, making their hay while the sun shone. 

199 


200 


UNCLE JOHN 


In the Ride, horse after horse, singly, by pairs, by threes, 
by squadrons, passed and repassed in one unbroken stream, 
to excite wonder, perhaps, rather than admiration, that 
amongst so many animals there should he so few the 
bystander would desire to call his own. Beautiful girls, 
with slender figures, tightly knotted chignons, or loosely 
floating hair, galloped up and down at a pace that seemed 
perilous to their companions, and that must have raised 
their bodily temperature to a degree of heat uncomfortable 
for themselves, while stout matrons and calm old gentlemen, 
perspiring more or less, toiled after them in vain. Here 
and there, a couple loitered leisurely along under the 
shady trees, with loose reins and wistful faces, speaking in 
soft low whispers, or, deadlier still, looking straight between 
their horses’ ears in ominous silence. Since the young 
Border chief carried off his bride from Netherby, despite of 
kith and kin, Fosters, Fenwicks, Musgraves, and all the 
“ racing and chasing o’er Cannohie Lea,” no love-making 
has been more successful than that which is done on 
horseback. The very attitude seems suggestive of grace, 
pliability, and dependence on another ; the exercise com- 
bines just so much of firmness as infers strength of 
character, with so much of daring as promises a venture 
for better or worse when the right time comes, while the 
distance that must of necessity be preserved between the 
couple causes many a half-formed whisper to fall unheard, 
and leaves to imagination that which is never understood 
so satisfactorily as when it remains unspoken, though 
expressed. 

Far down the drive, from Albert Gate to Hyde Park 
Corner, pony-carriages, victorias, barouches, and broughams 
formed one continuous line, panels and harness glittering 
with paint and varnish, maid and matron blooming in 
their bright and various colours, like a bed of flowers. 
Here, too, were congregated irreproachable dandies, who 
either did not possess horses, or found riding incompatible 
with the superstition of the hour. Those who had waists, 
rested one neat hoot on the box of the wheel, in an 
attitude that displayed the symmetry of a manly shape to 
the best advantage. While those who were not so faultless 
in figure, made play with smiles, and nods, and killing 
glances from under the brims of their white hats. 


PLAY 


201 


To spectators, nothing could appear fuller of mystery 
and excitement than these conversations ; to listeners, 
such as the coachman and footman, nothing could he more 
dull and uninteresting. Many a man has the knack of 
observing, “it is a fine day,” with all the outward sem- 
blance of one who proposes immediate elopement. Many 
a lady says she “thinks it’s going to rain,” with such 
bright glances and sweet smiles, as seem to yield the 
willing consent that pledges her to become an “ accessory 
before the fact.” 

A young gentleman, who had easily persuaded his sister 
Jemima to lend him her bay mare, found himself rather 
lost and lonely in the midst of all these well-dressed 
people, scarcely one of whom he knew even by sight. A 
good temper, a cricketer’s digestion, an utter absence 
of conceit, and an Eton education, will do much to 
counteract the shyness that, arising in self-consciousness, 
is inseparable from youth, but it takes many years, and, 
alas! many disillusions to acquire that “front of brass” 
which arms the veteran, for whom the conflict has no 
terrors, no triumphs, and no excitement. His harness 
may be of proof, but he wears it at the cost of all his finest 
fancies, all his brightest romance. "VVhat would he not 
give to go down once more naked into the battle, and feel 
the shafts of the adversary biting as of old to the quick ! 

When our young gentleman left the paternal dwelling in 
Belgravia, he considered himself turned out in irreproach- 
able style. His mother’s scent-bottle, his sister’s hair- 
wash, and, I fancy, his father’s boot-varnish had all been 
laid under contribution. The bay mare’s coat shone like 
satin, and the whole thing, as reflected in Gunter’s windows, 
seemed to him very good. Strange that, in so short a 
distance as lies between Lowndes Street and Albert Gate, 
the mere force of comparison could have effected so complete 
a disenchantment! Passing into the Bide, Jemima’s bay 
mare collapsed into a moderate palfrey, her rider sank from 
a smart young dandy to an overdressed schoolboy. His 
collar felt too limp, his hat too stiff, his boots, in spite of 
the paternal varnish, seemed clumsy without feeling com- 
fortable, and a button came off his glove. 

Had he not met Annie Dennison, or had she failed to 


202 


UNCLE JOHN 


speak to him when she did, I believe our young gentleman 
would have turned out of the Park incontinently, smarting 
under a sense of ignominious defeat. 

The greeting, however, of so pretty and distinguished- 
looking a young lady reassured him, and when she desired 
him to accompany herself and her cavalier, he turned his 
horse round with a sensation of gratified vanity and renewed 
self-confidence, no less unreasonable than his previous 
discomfiture and dismay. 

Her General, as Annie called him, was always frank 
and soldier-like ; he shook the young gentleman cordially 
by the hand, asked when he was going to join his regiment, 
and while Perigord explained his present position, not 
very briefly, was obviously thinking of something else. 

“ Left Mr. Lexley ! ” exclaimed Annie, in a tone of 
astonishment. “ Not going back ! abandoned poor dear 
old Middleton and the Priors for ever! (General, who’s 
that bowing ? — the man with a white hat and a red nose.) 
Mr. Perigord, tell the truth — you’ve been getting into 
scrapes. I know you have, and poor Mr. Lexley has been 
obliged to rusticate you. That’s the word.” 

“ Never mind,” said the General, turning sharp round 
on both. “ Nothing to be ashamed of. Old Marchare was 
rusticated from Oxford. I’ve heard him say so a hundred 
times. He was my colonel when I began soldiering, and 
a smarter officer never handled a regiment. You’ll return 
to your duty, I suppose, Mr. Perigord, when your time is 
out? ” 

With some confusion the youth explained how his 
departure from his tutor’s house was in no way connected 
with misconduct, and how he carried with him that tutor’s 
good-will and approval into the life on which he hoped soon 
to enter. He could not help thinking the General’s interest 
diminished sensibly during his narrative. 

“ But why did you leave ? ” asked Annie, with a woman’s 
persistent curiosity. 

The boy was a gentleman to the backbone. His in- 
stincts had already warned him that of the late catastrophe 
at Lexley’ s vicarage the less said the better, and he pre- 
varicated with a good feeling that, unless all prevarication 
be unjustifiable, did honour to his heart. 


PLAY 


203 


“ I didn’t like reading quite so hard,” said lie, “ and I’m 
afraid I didn’t get on. My tutor must have seen it, and 
wrote to my father to take me away.” 

‘ ‘ Didn’t like reading? ” laughed the General. “ None 
of you do. Don’t like it myself. What? Like riding 
a great deal better, I dare say. I’ll overtake you in a 
moment, Annie. There’s the Duke beckoning.” 

So while General Pike reined in his horse with his hat 
off, Miss Dennison and her young cavalier rode on by 
themselves, much to the delight of the latter, who ex- 
pressed his gratification in his own frank, boyish way. 

“ Do you know I was beginning to feel quite lost and 
uncomfortable amongst all these swells when I saw you,” 
said he, “ but I’m not afraid of any of them now; for it 
seems to me that you and General (what did you say his 
name is ?) are the biggest swells of the lot. I say, Miss 
Dennison, if I was to see you at a hall, would you dance 
with me ? Just once, you know. If you weren’t engaged 
to any one else ? ” 

“ Of course I would ! ” answered Annie, laughing ; “ and 
go to supper with you too. I never forget my old friends. 
You and I were great allies at the Priors. What a 
pleasant time we had there ! ” added the young lady, with 
a little sigh. 

“ Hadn’t we,” responded Perigord. Wasn’t it jolly in 
the frost ? ” 

“ And wasn’t it nice when the thaw came that evening, 
and Mr. Foster was so pleased? I mean the day Mr. 
Mortimer and — and Mr. Maxwell came down?” 

Again Miss Annie sighed, this time a little deeper than 
before. 

“ There is Mr. Mortimer ! ” she exclaimed, after a 
moment’s silence, and put her horse into a canter with a 
brighter colour than usual in her cheek. 

On the neatest hack in London, with the best-fitting 
coat, the smoothest hat, the most imperturbable air of 
prosperity and self-confidence, Percy Mortimer overtook 
the pair, and while he made his bow to Miss Dennison 
betrayed just enough certainty of being welcome to provoke 
her exceedingly. No woman, I believe, cares for a man 
who is really her slave, but in all ages the sex has appre- 


204 


UNCLE JOHN 


ciated extreme deference of outward manner as highly as 
the resolution and recklessness of consequences it so often 
conceals. Reach out and pluck the fruit vigorously if you 
will, hut always remember the hand must be daintily 
gloved, and that which is ruthlessly extorted by force or 
address must seem to be waited for with patience, accepted 
with humility and thanks. 

Mortimer’s horse could, of course, walk faster and 
canter slower than any other animal in the park. It is 
needless to say that a more perfect mount for London 
purposes could not be procured at any price, or that it 
represented a cheque for three figures in his banker’s 
account. Percy never grudged money, but always took 
care to have his money’s worth. It was said of him at 
Oxford that if he paid more for wax candles than any other 
man in his college, they came from the best shop in 
London, and returned their full value in light. 

Riding an animal so well-shaped, so well-bitted, and 
well-broken, nothing could he easier than to range up 
alongside of a young lady at a canter, without seeming to 
pursue her indiscreetly, or to rein in for her with that over- 
done affectation of surprise which palpably defeats its 
object. A turn of the wrist, a touch of the leg, and 
Mortimer’s horse was adapting itself to the pace of Miss 
Dennison’s as if the same volition moved both. The young 
lady loved a canter only less than a gallop. That she 
should have pulled back to a walk when joined by this 
additional cavalier, looked as if she was put out. 

“If I bore you, say so,” observed Percy, carefully 
readjusting the hat he had removed for his salute ; “ but 
don’t worry your horse’s mouth because you are tired of 
me. I feel I am getting a bore. Old Pike wouldn’t look 
at me just now. Perhaps he’s jealous. Miss Dennison, 
I’ll promise to go away after I’ve shaken hands with Mr. 
Perigord, who has forgotten me, though I am delighted to 
see him.” 

Percy was good-humoured, even when making love — 
a very strong test, and such good-humour is highly 
contagious. 

Perigord felt gratified, and Annie, half provoked, though 
she did not know why, shook hands, and graciously per- 


PLAY 


205 


mitted him to join the calvacade under certain penalties 
and restrictions. 

“ Nonsense ! ” she exclaimed. “ You don’t bore me 
more than other people, except when you will explain 
things I don’t want to understand. Yes, you may ride 
with us as far as the end.” 

“ And back again? ” 

“Well, back again too, perhaps, if you’ll promise not to 
mention any country but England, and not to tell any story 
that has the name of a mountain in it, or a river, or a 
prince, or an ambassador, or a savage of any description. 
Now, go, on ! ” 

“ With a story ? Well, the only story I can invent at 
this moment is that I don’t like riding with a certain young 
lady by the Serpentine ” 

“ Stop, you’ve not kept to the bargain ; that’s the name 
of a river.” 

“And of a savage, too, is it not? Miss Dennison, I 
have fallen into your displeasure, and when you are dis- 
pleased, no cannibal is more merciless. Well, you may 
take my scalp if you like, with the little hair that is left on 
it. Head too, for the matter of that. What’s the use of a 
man’s head when his heart is gone? ” 

She stopped him angrily, yet relented almost imme- 
diately. He could not be in earnest, she thought, with 
that pleasant smile on his face. 

“ Don’t talk sentiment,” she exclaimed. “ It’s worse 
than travels or adventures, or even politics. You’re not a 
bad guesser. I am a little put out ; but I’ve no right to 
be cross with you .” 

“I wish you had,” said he in a low voice, bringing his 
horse so near that the buckle of her surcingle rasped his 
knee. “ People think I’m not in earnest because I never 
make long faces ; but there are some things I can be very 
much in earnest about, Miss Dennison, and this is one of 
them.” 

For all answer Miss Dennison stopped short and turned 
her horse’s head towards the carriage drive. “ There’s 
Lettie ! ” she exclaimed, “ and Aunt Emily. Come with 
me, Mr. Perigord ; I think I can do something for you that 
you will like.” 


206 


UNCLE JOHN 


“ Shall I see you to-night?” asked Percy in a whisper, 
regretting his question, as having played a wrong card, the 
moment it was uttered. He ought to have galloped off 
and pretended to be in a huff ; their next meeting, he 
reflected, would then have produced an explanation, and in 
an explanation it is not out of place to ask a serious 
question, and wait for a serious answer. 

“ Of course you will,” said the young lady pettishly, “ if 
you’re not too fine to go to Lettie’s ball. But I never 
promised to dance with you, mind, and you haven’t asked 
me,” she added, with a coquettish smile, for she had been 
rather short with him she thought, and it would be a pity 
to affront and lose him altogether. 

At this particular period Miss Dennison was sorely 
exercised in her mind as regarded Percy Mortimer. She 
would, and she would not. A girl soon discovers that she 
has made an impression, and though the gentleman was 
cool, cautious, full of tact, and, to use a Scotch impression, 
“ never reached his hand out farther than he could draw it 
back again,” she was perfectly satisfied, she had only to 
stretch out her own ever such a little, for that hand to be 
offered her at once. Far he it from me to say that women 
are less romantic than ourselves, though I can call to mind 
follies perpetrated by strong, outspoken, beer-drinking, 
tobacco-smoking idiots, fallen helplessly in love, that I 
would challenge all the ladies’ schools in all the suburbs of 
London to out-do ; but I hold that they are more inclined 
to wade into matrimony unconstrained by affection, than 
the less domestic sex, partly because they have been 
brought up to consider that institution as their prerogative 
and eventual destiny, partly because they can more easily 
attach themselves to the abstract idea of a husband, and 
find it realised in almost any individual whose society they 
are expressly forbidden to affect. 

Annie had hardly left off practising her scales before she 
learned to acknowledge the necessity of marrying somebody 
at some future time. It was only a question when the 
hour should come, and the man! 

Percy Mortimer possessed, doubtless, many attractions ; 
none perhaps stronger than that half the girls in London 
wanted to marry him. I am convinced that when Titania 


PLAY 


207 


fell in love with Bottom, she fancied some of the ladies 
about her fairy-court like him too ! Miss Dennison, in her 
heart of hearts, admired Horace Maxwell more than any 
man on earth, none the less that she was warned against 
him by her elderly friends, relatives, and all the sensible 
people who gave her good advice. But Horace was so 
uncertain, so ungenerous, so unfair ! Sometimes she 
thought he cared for her, and in the very next dance he 
would be going on outrageously with wicked Miss This, or 
flirting Miss That, and she would vow to give him up, 
never think of him, and never so much as speak to him 
again. Whereas Percy was always quiet, self-contained, 
and consistent. The one man would make her happy ! the 
other miserable. Need we say to which of them her heart 
inclined ! 

Mortimer, who did nothing in a hurry, or without good 
reasons, had come to the conclusion, that for his own 
comfort and respectability it would be well to share his 
home with somebody who would look handsome at the end 
of his table, keep him company in that rambling country- 
house, which was his only trouble in life, and nurse him 
when he got old and had the gout. To grow old and have 
the gout was Percy’s embodiment of the Nemesis that 
overtook all men alike, but he thought he could bear it 
better with Annie Dennison to take care of him. Such an 
idea, particularly if it had never been entertained before, 
soon takes root in a man’s heart. As he put his horse 
once more into a canter, he said to himself, “ I’ll do it ! 
And as it is to be done, it had better he done to-night.” 

In the meantime Annie had brought her young cavalier 
to the side of the barouche in which Mrs. Pike and Mrs. 
Dennison were enjoying the summer air, balmy and fragrant, 
in spite of gas, dust, horse-flesh, harness-paste, and all the 
other odours with which it was flavoured. “ Lettie,” she 
exclaimed, bestowing a bright smile on her friend, “ let me 
introduce Mr. Perigord, one of my partners, dear. And 
Lettie, will you do me a favour?” 

Mrs. Pike, a very pretty blonde woman, with a white 
dress, white bonnet, white teeth, and a white parasol, 
knew what was coming perfectly, and replied graciously, 
with a smile that showed the white teeth. 


208 


UNCLE JOHN 


“ Of course I will, dear ; but what have you done with 
your General? ” 

Mrs. Pike always spoke of him to Annie, as the personal 
property of the latter. 

“ Oh ! I left him talking to a very great man, and that 
tiresome Mr. Mortimer has been riding with us, and I’ve 
been looking for you everywhere. Lettie, will you send 
Mr. Perigord an invitation to your ball ? ” 

“ Delighted,” answered Mrs. Pike, who did everything 
in the pleasantest manner, thus taking the young gentleman 
captive at once. “ You are staying at your father’s, I 
suppose ? You shall have a card directly I get home.” 

“ It’s for to-night, you know,” said Mrs. Dennison, in 
her deep warning tones. “ I dare say you haven’t got any 
gloves, nor anything. No young man under twenty has 
any business at a ball.” 

“ He’s coming to dance with me,” interposed Annie, 
good-naturedly covering her young swain’s discomfiture; 
and the General making his appearance at last, the three, 
as far as their roads lay in the same direction, rode home 
together to dress for dinner. 

A canter in the Park with an admirer, who, if not 
precisely, is very nearly the right one, with the prospect of 
a pleasant ball in the evening, ought not to put a young 
lady in low spirits ; yet, while she dressed her, Miss 
Dennison’s maid could not but observe a slight tinge of red 
about her eyelids, nor fail to notice the smothered sigh 
that rose every now and then, as if from an aching heart. 

Annie had left the Park gay, laughing, jesting with her 
General, who, as in duty bound, saw her safe to her uncle’s 
door. She climbed the stairs to her own room, pale, 
sorrowful, preoccupied, with a languid step and a troubled 
feeling in her breast, of mingled pique, vexation, and 
despair. 

Down a bye-street near her own home she had espied a 
well-known figure that of late she had seen oftener in her 
dreams, alas ! than in her waking hours, and that figure 
was not alone. 

Horace Maxwell, talking and gesticulating eagerly, 
seemed pleading with his companion, whose shape, gait, 
and gestures there was no mistaking. It was surely none 


PLAY 


209 


other than the tall clergyman’s wife, Mrs. Lexley, 
formerly Miss Blair. 

“ No, I won’t wear that dress,” she said, to her maid’s 
astonishment. It was a costume Horace once admired, 
and had been so great a favourite as to have undergone 
many renewals of trimming and other repairs. “ Take it 
away. I hate the sight of it. I shall never wear it 
again.” 


14 


CHAPTER XYII 

WORK 

When Laura left Mr. Lexley’s house it was with the firm 
determination never to return, never to let him see her face, 
nor, after one letter of farewell, to hear of her existence 
again. She took her measures with a prudence and pre- 
caution learned in the vicissitudes of her former life. She 
was Mrs. Lexley when she got into the train, and when 
the porter called for a cab for her at the platform in London ; 
hut she became Mrs. Laxton while that cab was dismissed 
in the street, arid carrying her own modest bundle, she 
took another round the corner. Then she drove to a quiet 
hotel near a large railway station, and slept — no, not slept 
— hut passed the night there. Next day, after purchasing 
mourning attire, and disposing at a loss of some valuable 
jewels, wedding presents from the Dennison family and Mr. 
Lexley’s relations, she proceeded, with such another change 
of cabs as obliterated all trace of her movements, to 
establish herself in a humble lodging, where she wrote her 
last letter to her husband, and began a new life. 

I have heard the theory broached by men, generally 
under thirty, who profess to understand the sex, that women 
with grey eyes, like Minerva, are colder, bolder, more 
resolute, and more enduring than the others ; hut that for 
him who can elicit the love-light that causes those grey 
eyes to shine and deepen, they are invariably loving, 
devoted, and true to the death. In Laura’s grey eyes there 
had lurked a world of tenderness and affection on the lawn 
among the roses. Scanning the shabby funiture of the 
dusty little London lodging, it was sad to think they should 
he so cold and hard and tearless now. 

210 


WORK 


211 


She wondered at her own composure. She could even ' 
take an interest in her own precautions to avoid that 
detection by the man she loved, of which she must not 
think, because of the cruel hunger to see his face again. 
She recalled, with a smile that had in it little mirth, the 
ingenuity of certain Red Indians whom she had once seen 
in her wanderings, taking measures to destroy the trail by 
which their pursuers might have hunted them to death, 
and thought bitterly that these had only been devising 
means for securing their own safety, while she must exercise 
her wit and tax her experience to shut out from her weary 
eyes the only gleam of light left on this side the grave. 

But she did it resolutely! Was it not for his sake? 
On this consideration she dared not dwell, lest it might so 
soften her that she should but weep ; feeling, if she once 
gave way, the strength would never come back that now 
enabled her to fight on. 

She sat down and confronted her position, with the calm 
defiant courage of her character. A prouder woman did 
not exist; but hers was the pride that rises in disaster, 
and becomes only more stubborn the more it has to sustain. 
Delaney’s Yankee partner was no mean judge of human 
nature, extracting, as he did, a comfortable livelihood from 
it weaknesses. 

“ A stiffer upper lip than your good lady keeps,” he once 
observed to his confederate, “I never saw on man or woman. 
It’s a’most a beautiful face is Mrs. D.’s. But I larned 
reading, Squire, at a free-school down to Albany, long ago. 
Guess I can read ‘ No ’ there, as plain as print.” 

The jewels had realised a few pounds ; she had brought 
away a few more from her home. The articles of clothing 
she required would make no great inroad on this little fund; 
but say it lasted a month or two, what then ? Some plan 
must be devised to get more. Laura could think of nothing 
better than the old trade among the old employers. Her 
musical proficiency would at any time have furnished ample 
means of livelihood, had she consented to play in public ; 
but this was to court detection, and detection meant per- 
secution from the man she had married ; shame to the man 
she loved. No; she must grind on at the old wearing 
employment, teaching their notes to beginnners, who had 


212 


UNCLE JOHN 


neither ear, nor touch, nor inclination to learn. She set 
about it at once. Attired in deep mourning, keeping down 
to the simplicity of a Quakeress all the accessories of her 
costume, yet looking only the more queenly the plainer she 
was dressed, Mrs. Laxton, as she now called herself, started 
on her round of visits amongst the parents of her old pupils, 
and soon found that in the occupation of a music-mistress, 
as in all other affairs of life, the status ante can never he 
regained. “ One down another comes on,” is the rule of 
existence. The loss of a painstaking instructress, however 
much bewailed at the time, had long since been replaced ; 
and Miss Blair in two years was as completely forgotten as 
if she had never been. A pianoforte maker, indeed, now 
doing a large business, whom her good word had brought 
into notice, bestirred himself on her behalf, and gave her a 
recommendation to what he called “a genteel family residing 
in the suburbs.” There were a good many young people, 
he informed her, adding sensibly enough, “ that it was an 
opening, if nothing else.” So Laura started, one hot after- 
noon, by the Underground Bailway, to take her chance. 

Pacing wearily to and fro in the airless vaulted tunnel, 
while she waited for the train, the force of contrast brought 
vividly before her the peaceful parsonage, with its cool 
rooms, its shady porch, its trim lawns, and gorgeous rose- 
garden. Plunged in a day-dream she seemed to be at 
home, — yes, had it not been the only real home she ever 
knew ? — at home once more, waiting breakfast for him, in 
her clear white muslins, so fresh and airy ; so different 
from the suffocating crape and velveteen she must always 
wear now — waiting for him to come down, with his happy 
smile, his kind frank voice, his pleasant greeting to the 
pupil, who responded merrily ; his tall manly form bending 
with a courtesy that enhanced his affection, when he even 
looked at her. Oh ! to see something, were it but a dog, that 
would remind her of the dear old times ! If young Perigord 
could have made his appearance at that moment, she must 
have fallen on his neck and wept. 

“ Look sharp, marm, or you’ll lose the train ! ” said a 
voice at the level of her shoulder, while a fat little man, in 
a white heat, caught her unceremoniously by the elbow, 
and pushed her through the door of a second-class carriage 


WOBK 


213 


into which he bundled after her, wiping his face, and 
chuckling audibly, as having “nicked it, just in time,” to 
use his own expression, “ for the two of us ! ” while Laura, 
waking to consciousness, and the remembrance of where 
she was, felt she hated him for his good-nature. 

She was so handsome, that she had always been used to 
those little civilities affording excuse for conversation, which 
men of all ranks and ages are apt to offer an attractive 
fellow-traveller, and knew as well as any woman how to 
distinguish between an attention and an impertinence. The 
fat little man, in spite of his figure and his accent, was 
chivalrous as Bayard ; and although he seemed to consider 
that his presence of mind in rousing her, when the train 
arrived, gave him a vested interest in the beautiful woman 
who sat opposite, his tone, though unpolished, was respect- 
ful, his manner, though ludicrous, was deferential in the 
extreme. She found herself listening to his conversation 
with a vague sense of relief from the burden of her own 
thoughts. 

He considered it polite to inform her how he came to he 
on the platform the very moment the train arrived, in 
which they were then seated, and which, in her abstraction, 
she would have allowed to pass on. This entailed a minute 
account of his morning’s proceedings, how many hides, for 
his business was “ Hides an’ Tallow, marm, you’ll excuse 
me,” he had bought in the City, with a masterly exposition 
of that precarious trade, accounting for the rise of the one 
article and fall of the other. The cabman who had over- 
charged him was not forgotten, nor his successful resistance 
to such extortion ; the ’bus, as he called it, which took him 
in five minutes to his place of business from the Bank, met 
with a qualified approval, but of all conveniences, he was 
sure the lady would agree with him, “ as this here Under- 
ground was the invention of modern times, and however we 
got on without ’em, afore we had ’em, beat him now, that 
it did, when he came to think of it ! But you has to look 
sharp, marm. Time’s money, you know — miss a train and 
you loses ten minutes. That’s why I made bold to give 
you the office, marm, just now ! ” 

The quiet thanks this observation elicited rendered him 
more voluble than ever. 


214 


UNCLE JOHN 


“ Time’s money, marm, no doubt, in this here great com- 
mercial country. Why, in my business, now, if the markets 
are pretty brisk, and there’s anything like competition, I’ve 
known it rule as high as a pound a minute, say. I can’t 
afford to lose ten minutes, I can’t, nor yet five. I’m a 
family man, I am ; eight o’ ’em, boys and girls, beautiful 
and dutiful — that’s without reckoning the baby. We never 
make much account of our babies, not till after they’re 
weaned.” 

“ Indeed,” said Laura, “ that’s a fine family.” 

She was wondering vaguely at her companion. In her 
varied experience she had never met a specimen of the 
domestic, commercial, middle-class Londoner before. It 
rested her weary mind to watch his peculiarities ; he awoke 
no painful memories, stirred no chord of sympathy, but she 
felt grateful to him that for a while he took her out of 
herself. 

“ It is a fine family,” answered the little man proudly. 
“My mother was a fine woman, my wife is a fine woman, 
my eldest daughter will be a fine woman. When I see a 
fine woman I respect and admire her. There’s no such 
object in nature. It’s like looking at Saint Paul’s or the 
river from London Bridge. No offence, marm, this here’s 
my station, and excuse me, I can’t help seeing your ticket 
— I believe it’s yours.” 

The little man’s tone was so friendly, and at the same 
time so devoid of all presumption, that Laura, whose head 
was confused with the turning and intricacies of the way 
out, asked him to direct her to her destination when they 
emerged together on the street. His face was radiant. 

“Paradise Grove! ” he exclaimed, “Why, I live there 
myself. I’m going there now. What part was you wishing 
to find ? Our Grove is rural and scattered, you see ; but 
bless ye, I knows every house in it as well as I knows my 
own shop in Thames Street.” 

“ Larkspur Hall,” answered Laura, reading from a card 
in her hand. 

“ Name of Grote ! ” exclaimed the little man. “ That’s 
my name. Larkspur Hall; that’s my house. Tm Mr. 
Grote ; and my missis,” he added, as an afterthought, “ in 
course is Mrs. Grote.” 


WORK 


215 


“ Then I shall hope to find Mrs. Grote at home,” said 
Laura quietly. “ I have been directed to apply to her, as I 
hear she requires a music-mistress for her young people.” 

In describing his feelings on a subsequent occasion to 
his eldest daughter, Mr. Grote protested that this simple 
statement fairly deprived him of breath. 

“ You might have knocked me down with a feather,” 
said he ; “I was that bamboozled and took aback. It 
wasn’t her dress, Selina, nor yet the ’aughty way she 
carried her ’ead, but it was her manners. I never was 
deceived in manners afore, and the first moment as I 
clapped eyes on her a standin’ there in a brown study on 
the platform, I said to myself, says I, Second-class, or 
third-class, or first-class, if that one’s not a West-ender I’ll 
eat her ! And to think she could have corned all the way 
only wanting to be your music-mistress. “ Well, to be 
sure ! ” 

In the meantime the happy father of the Grote family 
could do no less than to direct his new acquaintance to his 
home. 

“ Not a quarter of a mile off,” said he, opening his eyes 
wide with astonishment. ‘ ‘ Good situation ; airy, salubrious ; 
trains to the City every ten minutes, and a ’bus every 
quarter of an hour. Deary, deary me ! ” 

In his distraction he quoted unconsciously from the house- 
agent’s advertisement that first tempted him, but the 
ejaculation which concluded the sentence was his own. 

Nearing Larkspur Hall, Mr. Grote’s confidence began to 
wane. What if Mrs. Grote should be at the front window, 
and detect him thus walking side by side with a lady of 
Laura’s stature and general appearance? “ Grand, stylish,” 
thought the little man, scanning his companion with stealthy 
glances as she moved gracefully along. “Five feet seven 
and a quarter, in satin shoes, if she’s a liinch. Mag — 
nificent ! ” Mrs. Grote was a prey to jealousy, and he would 
hear of it again. When they reached the gate of a little 
apology for a garden between the door- step and the street, 
he hung back and devoted his attention to cleaning his boots 
at the scraper. 

In vain. When did such paltry subterfuge ever avail the 
married man, conscious he has fallen short by ever so little 


216 


UNCLE JOHN 


of his domestic duty ? Mrs. Grote, whose eye, and indeed 
her nose also, was that of a hawk, taking advantage of her 
stature as a “ fine woman ” to peer over the parlour blinds 
was no less shocked than astonished at the deportment and 
what she called the “ goings on ” of her husband, from the 
moment he entered the purlieus of the Grove. He did 
hear of it afterwards, again and again and again, — but this 
has nothing to do with my story. 

Laura had met many stately dames and female magnates 
of various kinds both at home and abroad, but had never 
yet encountered anything to equal the dignity of Mrs. Grote, 
when, in obedience to the summons of a remarkably untidy 
maid, she entered the lady’s presence in the front parlour. 
She did not even rise from her chair when the visitor came 
in, hut contented herself with a supercilious stare, conveying 
as much offence as was compatible with stern and con- 
temptuous silence. 

Poor Laura was obliged to speak first : “ I have taken 
the liberty of calling on you, madam,” said she, “in con- 
sequence of a communication I have received from Messrs. 
Peddell and Co., stating that you require a music-mistress 
for your children.” 

“ Oh, dear no ! ” said the other, “ you must have been 
misinformed. My young people have already received the 
very best instruction. At the same time if your pro- 
ficiency is really first-class, your testimonials undeniable, 
and your references of course satisfactory, Mrs. — Mrs. — I 
have yet to learn your name.” 

“Laxton,” answered Laura, keeping down a sob. 

“ Mrs. Laxton. A widow, I presume. I say if your 
references were wholly unimpeachable— for I am most 
particular on that point — and your terms moderate, I might 
take your proposal into consideration.” 

“ Couldn’t I begin soon ? ” faltered Laura. “It’s a 
great object to me to get employment, and my terms are 
low enough, God knows.” 

Mrs. Grote frowned. “I am not accustomed to this 
kind of language,” said she; “nor do I consider your 
appearance and manners those of a person whom I should 
wish to admit on terms of intimacy into my family.” 

“And I am not accustomed to be insulted!” retorted 


WOBK 


217 


Laura, leaving the room with a toss of her head and a 
sweep of her dress that reduced Mrs. Grote into utter 
insignificance ; but she was sorry for it five minutes after- 
wards, for she felt she had thrown a chance away. 

Grote was sorry, too, watching her departure from an 
upper chamber. It would have added no little to the orna- 
mental part of his daily life, that this handsome music- 
mistress should have gone to and fro, by omnibus or 
Underground Kailway, to make harmony in Larkspur Hall. 
He was more sorry still when dinner time drew near, and 
having been subjected to a searching cross-examination by 
his wife, he was sent to Coventry for the rest of the night. 

Mrs. Laxton had asserted herself ; and perhaps any other 
lady would have done as much under like provocation ; but 
although the little excitement of the contest did her good, 
its effects soon wore off, and with them vanished the 
resentment she now felt such a woman as Mrs. Grote 
ought never to have been able to arouse. “What is the 
matter with me?” thought Laura ; “ I used to be as hard 
as the nether mill-stone ! Even Mr. Delaney couldn’t 
make me angry, and heaven knows he was very trying! 
My nerves must be failing, or my health or something. My 
knees actually shook while that odious vulgar woman dared 
to speak so rudely. It was temper, not weakness, that’s 
one comfort. But I used to be able to command my 
temper so beautifully when it was irritated twenty times 
a day. And now it fails me at the first trial. Oh, Algy — 
how you have spoilt me, my darling ! It seems too hard — 
too hard — that I must never see your face again.” 

She put down her veil, for the tears would not be denied 
now, and so, weeping silently, wended her way back, a 
lonely, broken-hearted woman, in the crowded streets of 
London. 

What a long and weary walk it was ! Past Paddington 
Green, down the Edgware Road, across the dusty wind- 
swept waste of Hyde Park, that lies between the Marble 
Arch and the Serpentine, with eyes aching in the glare, 
and mouth parched to suffocation under the thick, choking 
veil, that must be lifted but an inch at a time for fear of 
recognition. A foot-guardsman, with two medals on his 
breast, carrying a clothes-basket, looked after her in 


218 


UNCLE JOHN 


mingled pity and admiration, regretting that she seemed 
a real lady, and however tired, he must not therefore offer 
her the consolation of beer. A flaunting woman, handsome, 
red-faced and dirty, with rings on her ungloved hands, 
laughed loud as she passed. A stunted youth, smoking 
a had cigar, leered in her face and then followed close on 
her footsteps, till the appearance of a policeman caused him 
to slink sulkily away. She felt as if she alone, of all the 
people in this great swarming metropolis, had no established 
place — no right to he here. “ I’m not bad enough for that 
yet,” she thought, looking at the cool, shining Serpentine ; 
“but God knows what one may come to. I can already 
understand why friendless women jump off the bridges in 
this great heartless town ! No, I won’t do that. I shall 
never see him again here ; hut who knows ? — I may find 
him perhaps somewhere or somehow hereafter ! ” 

The reflection seemed to give her fresh enrage, and by 
the time she reached the confines of the Park, her step 
had regained its elasticity, and in gait and bearing she was 
herself again. 

Laura was a difficult person to disguise. It was all very 
well to change her name for Laxton, to put on deep 
mourning, and draw a double veil over her face, but a 
figure like hers once seen could not he easily forgotten. 
Perhaps of all her personal advantages, her walk and 
manner were the most prepossessing. Horace Maxwell, 
lounging home to dress for dinner, recognised these at fifty 
paces off, though her back was turned, and asking himself 
in languid astonishment what Mrs. Lexley could he doing 
in London, gave chase without delay. When he came up 
with her, and put out his hand, she had not the heart to 
refuse it. Had there been time for consideration she might 
perhaps have perpetrated the absurdity of pretending to 
ignore him, and hurried on with bent head and lowered 
veil, till a passing cab or omnibus should place her out 
of reach ; hut she was so lonely, so wretched, it was so 
refreshing to meet a gentleman again; she had always 
liked Horace too, and for a few hours, had even con- 
descended to amuse herself by captivating him. No 
wonder she obeyed her first impulse, and greeted him 
with undisguised delight. 


WOBK 


219 


Neglecting the first principles of agreeable conversation 
which forbid inquiries after anybody, Horace tumbled neck 
and crop into a solecism at the earliest opportunity by the 
awkward question, “ Is Lexley in town, and where are you 
both staying ? ” 

She raised her veil now, and looked him full in the face. 
He was shocked to see how deep a mark sorrow had already 
set on that commanding beauty which so struck him a few 
months ago. 

“Mr. Maxwell,” she said in a low earnest voice, “do 
you remember the first secret between you and me?” 

“I am not likely to forget it,” answered Horace, who 
never could talk to a woman quite as he would to a man. 

“ Do you remember what you said about a gentleman ? ” 

“Yes, Mrs. Lexley. ‘Honour among thieves,’ and 
‘ Love laughs at locksmiths,’ have been the two maxims 
of my life.” 

“ Then I will trust to your honour as I did once before. 
Mr. Maxwell, I am very unhappy — I am in a very painful 
position. I have left my home — I have left my — Mr. 
Lexley, never to return. I cannot explain why, any more 
than 1 could explain that evening at the Priors how I came 
to know Mr. Mortimer. I am in London alone, without a 
friend in the world. Stop ! I trust you because your are a 
gentleman. I mean to be alone — I mean to be without 
a friend ; and I charge you as a gentleman to respect my 
confidence. Never attempt to see me, never recognise me 
if we meet, never tell a living being you found me here 
to-day. If you play me false, you will drive me from this 
great swarming town, my only refuge, and where can I 
hide my head then but in the grave ? ” 

“ You distress me,” said Horace, “ even more than you 
puzzle me. Of course I will keep your secret, of course I 
will respect your confidence. But to he alone and friendless 
in London means also to be helpless and — and — perhaps 
straitened in circumstances. You will at least let me 
know where you live.” 

He was interested. He was thoroughly in earnest. He 
pitied her from his heart, and he showed it in his manner. 
While he was thus absorbed, Annie Dennison passed a few 
paces off on horseback unobserved, and saw him pleading 


220 


UNCLE JOHN 


earnestly with the lady of whom she had been so mistrustful 
when she was Miss Blair. Poor Annie would have died 
rather than owned how much it hurt her. 

But all his arguments and entreaties were in vain. Laura 
stood firm, denied him her address, would not consent to 
see him, hear from him, hold any communication with him 
again. The utmost he could get her to concede was that 
if at a future time she should find herself in dire need or 
deadly sickness, she would let him know, on the solemn 
condition that, even in such extremity, he -would never 
reveal the secret of her hiding-place to a soul. 

“ Promise me that, Mr. Maxwell,” said she, while he 
held her hand at the corner of a bye-street, “ on your 
honour as a gentleman, and promise me, too, that you will 
try not to think of me so badly as I seem to deserve.” 

Then she dropped her veil and left him, feeling she had 
severed the last link that bound her to her former life. 

Maxwell looked after her long and wistfully, sorely 
tempted to follow and find out where she lived, in defiance 
of her express instructions. 

“ What ought I to do ? ” thought this perplexed squire 
of dames. “In all my experience I have never been so 
completely at sea. She might starve . By Jove ! I believe 
she would starve rather than let one know. What is she 
up to? I can’t make her out. Then there’s Lexley. 
Poor old chap ! — right or wrong, it will break his heart. 
Surely it would be only fair to let him know. I’ll ask 
Percy. Hang it ! I can’t — I gave my word of honour. 
And, after all, one is a gentleman ! It’s very inconvenient 
— very. Poor thing! How she has gone off, and how 
handsome I used to think her before — before I made such 
an ass of myself about the other one ! What a trouble 
women are to be sure ! In the meantime, I must go and 
dress.” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


MRS. PIKE’S BALL 

Whatever sorrows young ladies think well to cherish in the 
privacy of their own chambers, or even in presence of a 
confidential maid, they take care to hide every trace of 
vexation and anxiety when they emerge radiant before the 
world, going down to battle armed at all points, and thirsting 
for the fray. Annie Dennison never looked prettier in her 
life than while she stood at the top of Mrs. Pike’s staircase, 
helping her friend to receive some of the best , and, we may 
be permitted to hope, the most virtuous people in London, 
who came to swell her ball. 

Mrs. Pike had no young ladies of her own, that is to say, 
in a hall-going sense ; the two mites she took about in her 
victoria being as yet removed by many years from the period 
of emancipation and flirtation ; but she loved Annie dearly 
as a sister, if indeed that expression conveys true attach- 
ment. And it was understood by all the worthy guests 
who were likely to send invitations of repayment that this 
ball of Mrs. Pike’s was given for Miss Dennison. 

A very ornamental couple they were, making courtesy 
after courtesy in return for the greetings of those who 
bowed, shook hands, and passed on. “ Dear Lettie, you 
look so nice ! ” had been Annie’s exclamation when she 
arrived, early of course, while taking in at a glance her 
friend’s entire toilette — white dress, white flowers, white 
skin, white teeth, and white fan as usual. 

“ Dear Annie, if it comes off at my ball I shall be so 
pleased ! ” replied the matron, with a meaning smile that 
caused the young lady to frown a little and sigh a little, 

though she did not blush at all. Nevertheless, there was 

221 


222 


UNCLE JOHN 


the sparkle of a conquerer in Miss Dennison’s eye, and 
whether or not she proposed giving quarter to the van- 
quished, there seemed little doubt that she would herself 
come off triumphant in the strife. 

The General looked splendid. To use Percy Mortimer’s 
expression, he was “all over the place.” Amongst the 
dancers, amongst the chaperones, amongst the waiters in 
the supper-room, the very link-men in the street — he 
seemed simply ubiquitous, and wherever his bald head 
was seen to shine, his energetic gloves to wave, there 
order was re-established, and perfect discipline prevailed 
once more. 

Even Mrs. Dennison, who, difficult to please, and pro- 
testing all the while, had left her husband fast asleep in his 
arm-chair, to bring her diamonds here, in their old-fashioned 
setting, condescended to express approval. The General 
was so eager, so energetic, so demonstrative, “ so different 
from your uncle, my dear,” as she observed to Annie, and 
in such comparison summed up her utmost meed of 
praise. 

People were trooping in by scores. Carriage-lamps 
winked and glowed all down the street, all about the 
square, and half a mile round the corner, while broughams 
and family-coaches that had not yet “ set down,” crept 
onward in an endless string. Crowds of parti- coloured 
footmen thronged the entrance. Billows of red, white, 
and variegated wrappings rose mountain-high in the cloak- 
room, where Mrs. Pike’s maid and Annie’s rushed about in 
the smartest of gowns with pincushions in their hands, 
scrutinising every lady’s dress as she came in, and keeping 
all its details in mind for a week. Beautiful women moved 
stately, as in procession, up the stairs, the sweeping dra- 
peries, graceful figures, and abundant hair showing to 
advantage in the flood of light that streamed from the 
ball-room ; while here and there a lovely head was turned, 
a pair of lustrous eyes smiled down, on some favoured 
object in the crowd below, and the object pressing a flat hat 
against his heart, while he begged somebody’s pardon at 
every step, followed as best he might. The confusion of 
tongues was great, the conversation voluble if not in- 
structive, tinged, it may be, with a certain sameness ; and 


MBS. PIKE'S BALL 


223 


remarkable for that brevity which is said to be the soul of 
wit. 

“Been here long?” — “Just come.” — “Going on to 
Lady Boreall’s ? ” — “ You cut me to-day in the Park. I’ve 
taken our stalls for Saturday.” — “ What a bad dinner ! ” — 
“ Who’s that in pink ? She’s not so pretty as her sister. 
Did you get my note ? Give us the first round ? — The 
next? ” — “ Can’t ; I’m full, all but one square.” 

Dancing had begun in earnest. Black coats and blonde 
heads were whirling about in clouds of lace, tulle, and 
transparencies filmy and delicate as the gossamer on a June 
meadow at dawn. Here and there a lady whose dancing 
days were over, quitted her seat by the wall, and sought the 
tea-room, on the same arm, perhaps, that had supported 
her through unforgotten waltzes twenty years ago. She 
used to blush then with a shy delight, and it was pleasing 
to observe that although but a question of temperature, she 
had a good deal of colour still. Already certain alcoves, 
and places of retirement, conspicuous for their very pretence 
of seclusion, were occupied by whispering couples, who had, 
however, the good taste not to remain too long in the same 
spot, and looked more or less relieved when their tete-a-tete 
was over. A strain of dance-music, sad for its very sweet- 
ness, rose and sank, and swelled, and even paused for a 
measured space, to wail again, sadder, sweeter, softer than 
before, while with deepening eyes, flushing cheeks, panting 
bosoms, and thrilling whispers, the magic circles were com- 
pleted again and again, and with pleading entreaties for 
“just one turn more,” yet again. Mrs. Pike was pleased 
to think how well it was all going off, and Horace Maxwell, 
having made his bow, contemplated the scene from the 
doorway, with wandering, hankering eyes, that, like sea- 
birds of the Bosphorus, flitting from wave to wave, sought, 
but seemed not to find, the wished-for place of rest. 

A prosperous dame of a certain age, whose aquiline 
features and lavender dress presented a marked resemblance 
to a Dorking hen, introduced him in vain to her solitary 
chick, with whom, in consideration that he had dined at 
her papa’s twice, he certainly ought to have danced once. 
A spinster, whose day for waltzing should have been past, 
though her time for marriage seemed not yet to have 


224 


UNCLE JOHN 


arrived, looked imploringly at him over her fan ; yet he 
remained a man of stone. Even Mrs. Pike’s good-natured, 
“ Dear Mr. Maxwell, go and get a partner,” failed to rouse 
his energies, while the General himself, who found a moment 
to shake him cordially by the hand, bounced back to his 
avocations, wishing that the decencies of life and his young 
wife’s permission might only have entitled him to “ show 
these young fellows how we used to do it in my time ! ” 

But Horace felt a hundred at least, for scanning every 
group of dancers, and every bench in the ball-room, he 
failed to discover either Annie Dennison or Percy Mortimer, 
and with that instinctive clairvoyance possessed by the 
lower animals for their well-being, but by man for the pro- 
motion of his discomfort, was satisfied that this couple, 
being absent, must he together. 

Drawn from whatever source, the inference was right. 
Percy, characteristically seated in a comfortable arm-chair, 
with his flat hat on one footstool and his neat little hoots 
on another, had engaged himself in an earnest conversation 
with Miss Dennison, to which that young lady, in a con- 
strained attitude and a fit of vexation, at least, if not ill- 
humour, seemed to listen with wandering attention. 

Horace, passing the door of the boudoir in which they 
were ensconced, did not fail to take in the situation with one 
rapid glance, that showed him a deeper flush than common 
on Annie’s cheek, an unusual restlessness in the impatience 
with which she pulled to pieces the bouquet in her hand. 
Though he fleeted past like a ghost, she on her side felt, 
rather than saw, that he looked pale and sorrowful, with 
reproachful eyes that haunted her afterwards in her dreams. 
She had come to the ball very unhappy, but somehow she 
felt a little better now. Perhaps Percy, who certainly 
possessed the knack of amusing, made himself particularly 
agreeable ; perhaps her own thoughts were comforting ; per- 
haps she was conscious that she had the race in hand, could 
win as she liked, and might, if she chose, show some people 
that other people were not afraid to know their own minds. 

“How you are spoiling the bouquet I sent you,” said 
Percy, drawing, as he intended, her indignant rejoinder. 

“ You didn’t ! I got it from Uncle John.” 

“ Then how you are spoiling Uncle John’s bouquet,” 


MBS. PIKE'S BALL 


225 


resumed her admirer. “Is it because you don’t like 
flowers, or because you don’t like Uncle John, or because 
you don’t like me ? ” 

“ I like flowers, and I like Uncle John,’’- replied Annie, 
burying her face in the disordered bouquet to hide a blush 
thst emboldened him to proceed. 

“ Would you pull the flowers to pieces if I had sent 
them ? ” he asked, and wondered to find his heart heating, 
while he waited for an answer. 

“ You never did give me a bouquet, so how can I tell ? ” 
returned Miss Annie. “ Don’t you think it’s very hot 
here? Shall we go back to the tea-room?” 

“ Not till we have had it out about the flowers,” 
answered Mortimer. “If I thought it possible you could 
value anything I can give, I would offer you all I have in 
the world, encumbered only with myself. Miss Dennison, 
will you accept it ? ” 

“ No,” whispered Annie, rising from her seat to take his 
arm in a perfectly friendly manner, and guide him back to 
the ball-room. 

He was much too good a fellow and true a gentleman to 
show that he was hurt, though he could not but reflect that 
such a facer as this he had never received in his life. 
Refused ! Distinctly and positively refused ! He, Percy 
Mortimer, for whom half the girls in London were angling, 
whose experience had hitherto taught him that to ask and 
have, if he only asked often enough, were one and the same 
thing, — who piqued himself on his insensibility, his know- 
ledge of the world, and his insight into character, affirming 
as he constantly did, that nobody but a fool would be so 
premature as to give a girl the chance of saying “No.” 
And here had he tumbled into the scrape that of all others 
he considered the most inexcusable, to emerge battered, 
morally sore all over, without even the satisfaction of 
having gained his point. 

Nevertheless, he dissembled his bruises, and led Miss 
Dennison back to her chaperone with more than his usual 
courtesy, and almost all his usual bonhomie. 

“ You’re not offended ? ” she whispered, pressing his arm 
kindly, as they approached Mrs. Pike at the door of the 
dancing-room. 


226 


UNCLE JOHN 


“ Not a bit,” he answered in the same tone ; “I’m not 
half good enough for you, and you were quite right.” But 
he took leave of his hostess at once, and only breathed 
freely when he found himself in his overcoat on the pave- 
ment outside. 

It took a long time to reach his brougham, and a minute 
or two to wake his servant, fast asleep on the box. Light- 
ing a cigar, he threw himself into the carriage, and let down 
the front windows. “ Go to Pratt’s ” said he, “ and drive 
like — no — never mind. Don’t hurry the old horse. After 
all, horses are horses, and women are — women ! ” 

He was probably not the only man who arrived at this 
sage conclusion the same evening ; even for the rougher 
sex there is a plentiful crop of vexations, anxieties, and 
heart-burnings to be reaped from these social gatherings. 
Not in the breast of maid and matron alone rankle those 
misgivings that rob the music of its harmony, the pillow 
of its slumber — even strong men, full of animal life and 
animal courage, can quiver down to their varnished boots 
because of 


“ The hopes and fears that shake a single ball.” 

Something in Miss Dennison’s face, as in his hankering, 
desultory lounge he passed her once more, emboldened 
Horace Maxwell to ask for a dance ; but he mistook her 
much if he thought he was to be let off so easily. 

“ I think I shall not stand up again,” she answered, with 
a cold stiff bow. “ I am rather tired, and, besides, I ought 
to help Lettie a little with the people.” But she made an 
exception, nevertheless, five minutes later, in favour of 
young Perigord, who had drowned all diffidence in 
champagne. 

While that gentleman, rather flushed, and in the highest 
spirits, was accomplishing a figure requiring no little con- 
fidence, and called, I believe, the “pas seul,” a whisper 
ran through the company, pervading even the ranks of the 
dancers, concerning a stranger who had lately entered the 
room. “ Where is he ? Who asked him ? Does anybody 
know who he is? How on earth did he get in?” was 
the purport of inquiring whispers that flew from lip to lip, 


MBS. PIKE'S BALL 


227 


while, with something of the instinct we see in dumb 
animals during a storm, parents gathered their young under 
their wings, the males showed an inclination not very 
strong towards resistance, and a general uneasiness seemed 
to prevail amongst the herd. 

It is impossible to say how this feeling of distrust and 
repugnance had originated, or by what social antipathies, 
subtle and inexplicable, it was caused. The man looked 
just like anybody else. There was nothing unusual in the 
fit of his clothes, the colour of his gloves, or the way in 
which he brushed back his hair, nor was the name that he 
followed upstairs, beginning in the hall as Mr. Dorimer, 
reaching the first landing as Mr. Dormouse, and finally 
shouted into the ear of his hostess as Mr. Doormat, 
calculated to excite suspicion or alarm. Mrs. Pike received 
him as one of her husband’s guests ; the General lumped 
him in with a body of dancing men, invited by his wife, 
whom he was pleased to call the Light Brigade, and if he 
thought about him at all, only wondered why he was not 
ten years younger, while the waiter in the supper-room, to 
which apartment he paid an early visit, regarded his 
appetite with contemptuous disapproval, as of a man who 
must have dined at one o’clock. 

Mr. Dorimer, alias Dalton, alias Delaney, with many 
other useful names to be put on like false whiskers or 
spectacles, when required for disguise, after his late visit 
to Middleton, had come to London, like many innocent 
country gentlemen, to look for a wife. His own wife, 
however, was the object of his search. She had given him 
the slip, when she left the parsonage, and while he admired 
the desperate energy that had baffled his attempts at 
extortion “ so like Laura,” as he said, it was yet a point of 
honour with him, as well as of interest, that he should not 
be beaten in the game. With little difficulty he traced her 
to London, but there, thanks to her precautions, the track 
failed, and he was completely at fault. 

He had gained some vague notion of her antecedents, 
and the names of her former friends. He had already 
visited one or two entertainments like the present without 
invitation, and while he thought it probable that he might 
even meet her in person, or at least gain some intelligence 


228 


UNCLE JOHN 


of her whereabouts at Mrs. Pike’s ball, it seemed the 
simplest thing in the world to put on an evening dress, a 
light-haired wig, a little colouring round his eyes — than 
which nothing more alters the whole expression of a man’s 
face — jump into a hansom, and walk confidently upstairs. 
That he might possibly be kicked down again was a chance 
hardly worth calculating to a scoundrel who had deserved 
and risked the galleys, the knout, and the hulks. 

If he could have kept quiet, he might have escaped 
scatheless, but it was the man’s nature to presume. Fat 
Lady Motherwell dropped her fan in the supper-room, he 
picked it up, and entered into conversation forthwith. Her 
ladyship, for whom it was impossible to forget a face, felt 
sure she had never seen him before ; but thinking he might 
he of use to three partnerless daughters, questioned her 
numerous acquaintance in vain to identify the stranger. 
Lastly, she had recourse to one of Gunter’s men, a staid 
personage, whose suspicions were already aroused, and who, 
feeling responsible for forks and spoons, walked gravely 
upstairs, and whispered to the General. That energetic 
warrior bristled into wrath at once. “ Did 'you ask him, 
Lettie?” said he, pointing to where Mr. Dorimer was 
standing in a corner, watching a quadrille with the apparent 
interest of a man who has never seen anything of the kind 
before. 

“ Not I, dear ; didn’t you ? ” returned Mrs. Pike. 

This was enough for the General, and he advanced to the 
attack forthwith. 

“I think you have made a mistake, sir,” said the old officer, 
working himself gradually up to boiling-point. “ I think 
you have no business here. You’ve come without an 
invitation. You’ve taken an infernal liberty. In my time, 
sir, a man was kicked who did such things ; and — and — 
you’ll have the goodness to leave the house without another 
word.” 

Then the General looked daggers, feeling the while 
somewhat abashed by the perfect equanimity with which 
the other accepted his revilings. 

“Am I not at Lady Boreall’s?” said he, with an 
expression of intense and innocent surprise. 

“ No, sir, you are not at Lady Boreall’s,” returned his 


MBS. PIKE'S BALL 


229 


host. “You are at Mrs. Pike’s — Major-General Pike’s. 
I am Major-General Pike ! ” 

“ Then, Major-General Pike, I shall to-morrow have the 
honour of enclosing you Lady Boreall’s card of invitation, 
with my own. After that you will, I trust, see the pro- 
priety of withdrawing your offensive expressions, and will 
convey to Mrs. Pike my apologies for thus intruding on 
her party by mistake.” 

The man seemed quite cool and composed. His manner, 
if a little theatrical, was perfectly assured, and he neither 
raised nor lowered his voice, speaking in a calm, equable 
tone, like one who had done nothing to be ashamed of, and 
cared not a straw if all the world were there to hear. He 
had quite the best of the position, and the General felt 
himself in the wrong. Though irascible, Pike was the 
best-hearted of men. 

“ I beg your pardon,” he exclaimed. “ A thousand 
pardons. I spoke hastily. I was in a devil of a rage. All 
sorts of scamps might get into one’s house, and I thought 
you were one of them. If you’re a friend of Lady 
Boreall’s, it is quite sufficient. As you are here, I hope 
you’ll stay and amuse yourself. Mrs. Pike will be 
delighted to see you. Let me present you to her at 
once.” 

“ To-morrow, after I have thoroughly satisfied you, 
General,” replied the other, with a stately bow. “In the 
meantime I thank you for the intention, and I wish you 
good-night.” 

Then he marched downstairs with all the honours of 
war, followed by several pairs of eyes, and, amongst others, 
by those of young Perigord, who puzzled himself exceed- 
ingly to remember where he had heard that voice before. 

We must return to Annie Dennison. After dancing 
with this young gentleman, she had consented to accom- 
pany him to the supper-room, where she left him talking 
volubly to some officers in the Guards, and drinking more 
champagne than she considered good for his tender years. 
One or two remembered him at Eton, and “ the Pieman,” 
as they called him, was less exhilarated, perhaps, by the 
wine than by finding himself accepted on a footing of social 
equality with those magnificent young dandies, who were 


230 


UNCLE JOHN 


completely at home in Mrs. Pike’s, as they were in every 
other ball-room, and, indeed, in society of all kinds, from a 
carpet-dance at St. John’s Wood to the State Concerts of 
Her Majesty the Queen. Annie thought it was time for 
him to go to bed. She thought, also, that she had been a 
little unkind to Horace Maxwell. He was false, no doubt. 
Though he looked so unhappy to-night, it was impossible 
he should care for her, hut still that was no reason she 
should be rude to him. It seemed unfeminine, unladylike ; 
nay, in the house of a friend like Mrs. Pike, it was even 
inhospitable. 

So she looked about through the different rooms, under 
pretence of seeking her hostess, and came upon him at last 
at an open window commanding the kitchen, offices, and 
stables, where he was cooling his face and contemplating 
the view with an air of disappointment and vexation 
amounting to disgust. 

“ Mr. Maxwell ! ” 

He turned with a start. The girl knew he had been 
thinking of her ; he tried to look so little astonished, and 
not the least pleased. 

“ You — you haven’t seen Lettie, have you ? I’m hunt- 
ing for her everywhere.” 

“ He had seen Mrs. Pike. She was in the tea-room. 
Should he go and fetch her ? ” 

“ Take me there, please,” said Annie. “ I shouldn’t 
mind a cup of tea myself. I’m so tired. It has been a 
good ball, hasn’t it ? But, somehow, every ball drags a 
little towards the end.” 

“I enjoyed it immensely ! ” he returned, with a weary 
look in his eyes that contradicted the assertion. “And so, 
I thought, did you. It only began to get flat, didn’t it, 
half an hour ago ? ” 

He had been watching her, then ! How strange ! How 
gratifying ! She had not the heart to resent his implied 
impertinence, which she perfectly understood. 

“I want you to do me a favour,” she whispered, stopping 
at the door of the tea-room. 

Horace, surprised rather than mollified, thought — “ Hang 
it, you are a cool hand ! I do believe you’re going to tell 
me all about your marriage, and ask me to give you away ! ” 


MBS. PIKE'S BALL 


231 


But he answered with an outward composure so dignified as 
to be a little ridiculous. 

“ You have only to command me, Miss Dennison. I am 
wholly at your service.” 

“ Thanks ! I knew you would,” said she, colouring. 
“Do you mind trying to get Mr. Perigord out of the 
supper-room ? He’s a nice gentlemanlike boy, hut he’s not 
used to London. I’m afraid he’s a little over-excited, and 
— and — I shouldn’t like him to get into a scrape here. 
You know I made Lettie ask him. Would it bore you very 
much to persuade him to go home ?” 

He could no more have refused than he could have 
struck her then and there, pale and tired, looking wistfully 
in his face ; but he was sore, angry, hurt to the quick, and 
he answered sternly : 

“ You know I always obey your slightest wish. This is 
probably the last time you will ever ask me a favour — the 
last time I shall have the chance of doing anything on your 
behalf.” 


CHAPTER XIX 


THE SLASHER 

But before Maxwell could interfere, Perigord had got 
himself out of the supper-room, and was intent only on 
identifying the stranger whose voice he heard in altercation 
— perhaps I should rather say, in explanation — with the 
General at the top of the stairs. Our young gentleman, 
excited by lights, wine, music, and, as he considered, 
unparalleled social success, felt his faculties sharpened, his 
energies aroused, and longed only for an adventure that 
should bring them all into play. Where had he heard that 
voice ? Like an inspiration it flashed upon him. In spite 
of fair-haired wig, stoop, and spectacles, this was the man 
who had been hanging about Lexley’s parsonage the day 
before his wife’s disappearance, this was the man who had 
spoken to Mrs. Lexley at the gate when she left her home. 
With considerable presence of mind the youth pounced on 
Mr. Dorimer in the entrance-hall, now thronged with guests 
waiting for their carriages, and shook him frankly by the 
hand. Delaney — we may as well call him henceforth by 
his right name — seized the opportunity with characteristic 
promptitude, pleased to show that he was known to one 
person, at least, in all that assemblage, and walked into the 
street arm-in-arm with his young friend at the moment 
Horace Maxwell came out of the supper-room, where he 
had been searching for the late Etonian, in obedience to 
Miss Dennison’s commands. 

He had brought no overcoat, his hat was under his arm ; 
he gave chase without delay, determined to keep the young 
gentleman in sight and extricate him, if necessary, from the 
toils of a sharper, shrewdly suspecting the uninvited guest 


THE SLASHER 


233 


to be one of that fraternity for whose sustenance fools seem 
especially provided. He followed at a prudent distance, 
and smiled to observe with what a show of intimacy they 
walked together arm-in-arm. 

“ Will you smoke ? ” said Delaney, proffering a case full 
of large high-flavoured cigars. “ No ? Quite right. Bad 
habit for a young man. I’ve knocked about so much 
myself in all sorts of climates that I couldn’t do with- 
out it. If you like to try one, you won’t find these very 
strong.” 

Young Perigord, who, I am sorry to say, smoked a 
mixture of nigger-head and cavendish in private, resented 
the imputation of squeamishness by accepting what he was 
pleased to call a “ roofer,” and, after a dozen puffs, began 
to think his new friend not such a bad fellow after all, 
resolving the while to finish his adventure, as he would his 
cigar, to the bitter end. 

“ I knew you directly you came down,” said he, “ though 
you’ve a different kind of thatch on to-night, and you had 
no goggles when I saw you in the country. I say, we 
didn’t think then we should ever meet at such a swell place 
as that,” indicating by a backward jerk of his head the 
house they had left, from which the notes of harp and 
fiddle still reached their ears, while shadows flitted across 
its window-blinds, bobbing up and down in harmony with 
the strains. 

Delaney glanced sharply at him, wondering how much he 
would swallow. 

“ The fact is,” he answered, “ I’m obliged to go about 
in different disguises. I don’t mind telling you. It’s quite 
unnecessary in society like that we have just quitted, but 
my life would not be safe if I was recognised in the streets. 
I am here on a business of secret diplomacy, and I have 
had a hint that the Internationalists are looking after me. 
You know what that means ! ” 

He drew his hand across his throat, and gathered from 
Perigord’s interested face that he had not miscalculated his 
young friend’s power of deglutition. 

“ You should have called at our place when you were 
in the neighbourhood,” continued the latter, fishing, as it 
seemed, for further information. “Lexley is a capital 


234 


UNCLE JOHN 


fellow, and we could have shown you some good cricket. 
Besides, you know Mrs. Lexley, don’t you ? ” 

“I never make half-confidences,” replied the other, 
turning his cigar thoughtfully between finger and thumb. 
“Iam safe with you , but of course this in strict confidence 
as between gentlemen. I do know Mrs. Lexley. I have 
known her a long time. The Reds threatened her too. It 
was to warn her I went down there. In a few weeks the 
danger will have blown over, but at present she is in 
hiding — close hiding. I do not even know where she is 
myself.” 

It was the only word of truth he had spoken in the whole 
interview, and the only one perhaps the other did not quite 
believe. Perigord pondered. The adventure, the dis- 
closures, the man himself, all were interesting to the last 
degree. He must see more before he parted with him of 
this mysterious individual, so calm, so undefeated, though 
he had just been virtually turned out of a ball-room, and 
wore a light wig with spectacles, because agents of the Red 
Republic were thirsting for his blood. 

“ I am deuced hungry ? ” exclaimed the young gentleman, 
throwing away the end of his cigar, and chinking two or 
three sovereigns in his waistcoat-pocket. “ Can’t we get 
some supper somewhere ? I have lots of money. You call : 
Til pay.” 

The other laughed. “ I don’t know London very well,” 
said he, “ but there used to be a place near here where one 
could get a lobster and a bottle of champagne at any hour 
of the day or night.” 

They had drifted, as it were, insensibly along Piccadilly, 
and had reached the neighbourhood of Leicester Square. 
Horace Maxwell, following with cautious steps, saw them 
turn into and out of a narrow street, cross an alley, and 
disappear through a door that swung open for all who 
desired to enter. 

He determined to wait a few minutes before he presented 
himself, but remained at a short distance carefully on 
the watch. A policeman turned his bull’s-eye on him, 
and continued his beat. Everything was orderly and 
quiet outside. Everything seemed equally well conducted 
within. 


THE SLASHER 


235 


If Delaney, as his manner inferred, was a perfect stranger, 
the waiter deserved infinite credit for the rapidity with which 
he brought the champagne and shell-fish on a clean napkin- 
covered tray, even before these refreshments were ordered. 
The billiard-marker in the next room, too, must have had 
some intuitive sense that detected the arrival of a proficient 
in his favourite game, to exclaim triumphantly, “ Here’s a 
gent as will give it, Captain ! ” And the person so de- 
nominated — an ill-favoured reprobate in yesterday’s shirt- 
sleeves, ragged whiskers, and a profusion of Mosaic gold — 
must have been strangely wanting in confidence to withdraw 
so readily his offer of playing any man in the room for a 
sovereign who would allow him five in a game of fifty up ; 
while two or three gentlemen of equally unprepossessing 
exterior winked at each other, no doubt from weakness of 
eyesight or the force of a had habit. 

From the table at which Delaney sat with his young 
acquaintance, the billiard-players could be seen through an 
open door passing to and fro in the enjoyment of that 
delightful pastime. Perigord, who drank a tumbler of vile 
champagne with a zest the elder man could not hut 
admire, began to fidget in his chair long before the lobster 
was finished. 

“ Hang it ! let’s have a game,” said he. “I don’t know 
your form, but I’ll play you even, and the loser shall pay 
for supper.” 

Now in a nature like Delaney’s the predatory instincts 
are never dormant. He was a swindler, he was a sharper, 
a man of extraordinary cunning, shifts, and resources, but 
he was also a gambler to the backbone. He would play 
for hundreds if he could afford it, hut was no less greedy for 
pounds, shillings, and even pence. He would have cheated 
a schoolboy out of his marbles no less eagerly than a duke 
out of his acres. All the rapacity of his character had been 
roused by the mere chink of two or three sovereigns in 
Perigord ’s waistcoat-pocket, and he could no more resist 
his longing to possess them than a hawk can help tearing 
the prey she has struck down. 

But the hawk is unwilling to share with other hawks, and 
Delaney had no idea of allowing his pigeon to be despoiled 
ever so little by birds of his own feather. 


236 


UNCLE JOHN 


“ Billiards,” he observed, tapping thoughtfully on a 
lobster’s claw. ‘ ‘It wouldn’t be quite fair. Few men can 
give me odds at billiards. I had rather play some game of 
chance, if you won’t allow me to consider you my guest. 
Something like heads and tails, odd and even. What do 
you say to beggar-my-neiglibour ? ” 

“ Too childish ! ” exclaimed Perigord indignantly. 

“ Blind hookey ; lansquenet; monte,” continued the other. 

4 ‘No. All these require a certain number of players. I 
can think of nothing but ecarte.” 

“I’ll play you at ecarte,” said the lad, who considered 
himself exceedingly skilful in that game. “ Play you 
for the price of our supper, and the winner shall stand 
brandy-and-soda for two. Here, waiter, bring a pack of 
cards.” 

“ Hush,” exclaimed Delaney. “ This is not a club, and 
I dare say they would be puzzled to find such a thing in the 
house.” 

But while he spoke the waiter had put them on the 
table. 

One of the unprepossessing gentlemen, peering through 
the door, nudged another unprepossessing gentleman, and 
laughed. 

“ The Slasher’s still on the same lay,” he whispered.^ 
“ It’s the old story. He has caught a green one to-night ; 
green as grass.” 

“ Green be hanged ! ” was the reply. “ He’s too simple 
by half. More likely a bonnet than a flat.” 

“You never know what the Slasher is up to,” said the 
first speaker in a tone of admiration. “ Now who’s this 
chap ? He looks like a real swell. This must he a pal of 
the Slasher’s who stands in.” 

The last observation was elicited by the appearance of 
Horace Maxwell, who now walked in with perfect equanimity, 
ordered a hrandy-and-soda, crossed over to the table at which 
the ecarte players were seated, and while he studied Delaney’s 
face, figure, and general appearance, narrowly watched the 
progress of the game. 

The Slasher, as they called him, from the scar on his 
left hand, sat with his back against the wall. He had 
played ecarte too often in doubtful company to permit 


THE SLA SHE B 


237 


the overlooking of his cards by a bystander. Horace, 
therefore, posted himself behind Perigord, who, wholly 
unconscious of his presence, continued his amusement, 
playing with fair average skill and that extraordinary luck 
which so often attends the gambling ventures of the young. 

Delaney, frowned on by Fortune, had recourse to Art — 
a mistress who never fails her suitors, and who, though 
she must he wooed with untiring perseverance, won at last, 
is won for ever. At the third game he dealt, and turned 
the king. 

“ Hold ! ” exclaimed Horace, in a loud voice that startled 
the billiard-players. “ Stop the game. You’re cheating, 
sir, and my friend shall not pay ! ” 

Delaney, little moved by the familiar accusation, threw 
all the cards in a heap, to the middle of the table. 

“ Who the are you , sir ? ” said he. “ And what do 

you want here ? ” 

Perigord, recognising Maxwell, and wondering how he 
got there, looked from one to the other, in helpless as- 
tonishment. 

“Never mind who I am,” returned Horace, buttoning up 
his coat for a row. “ Who you are, is more to the purpose. 
You cheated. I’ll swear. My friend shall not pay, as I said 
before, and the sooner he comes out of this with me, the 
better for you and your confederates ! ” 

“What do you mean by that, sir?” exclaimed the 
Captain, as he was called, swaggering into the room, with 
the other billiard-players. “ You’re no gentleman, you 
ain’t ! and — and — I’d knock your ugly head off for half a 
farthing.” 

The Captain was obviously considered the champion and 
bully of the party ; but there might be detected a quaver in 
his voice, that belied the warlike tendency of his denuncia- 
tions. 

“ Get your hat,” said Maxwell to his young friend, whose 
name, however, he carefully abstained from pronouncing — 
“ button up your pockets, and come with me. As for this 
gentleman in a dirty shirt,” he added, turning fiercely on 
the Captain, who retreated a step, “if he wants to knock 
my head off, he had better try. Perhaps he will find it 
rather an unpleasant job.” 


288 


TJNCLE JOHN 


“ This low and vulgar abuse is nothing to the purpose,” 
interposed Delaney, whose presence of mind had not the 
least forsaken him, and who spoke in the bland accents he 
had learned to consider as the tone of good society. “ This 
is a matter it is impossible to overlook, hut that cannot be 
settled to-night. You have made an accusation against me, 
sir, that no gentleman can submit to — as unjustifiable as it 
is impossible to substantiate. The affair cannot rest here, 
and you will, of course, furnish me with your name.” 

He turned to him while he spoke, with an air that almost 
caused Horace to disbelieve the evidence of his own senses, 
but for young Perigord, who, not deficient in mother-wit, 
had now gained time for reflection. 

4 ‘There’s something queer about this fellow,” he 
whispered ; “ the General kicked him out of his house not 
an hour ago, and he’s got a wig on to look like somebody 
else ! ” 

“ Name ! ” repeated Horace, in high disdain. “ You 
infernal scoundrel ! If I did right, I should give you in 
charge at once to the policeman outside. Hell get you 
before long, I’ll take my oath. Stand hack, there, and let 
me pass ! You will have it, will you ? Take it then ! ” 

With that, straight from the shoulder, he gave the Captain 
one between the eyes, that cut his own knuckles to the 
bone, and dropped the bully where he stood. Running his 
arm through Perigord’ s, he hurried the boy downstairs, 
and in half a minute both were breathing freely in the 
street. 

The Captain was in no hurry to get up. Pushed forward, 
though exceeding loth, by his hackers, he had put himself 
into a posture of offence, little thinking his opponent would 
join battle so readily ; and having felt the weight of that 
opponent’s hand, he wisely lay still, so long as there -was 
a chance of the punishment being repeated. It was not 
till the late visitor’s footsteps died away that he lifted his 
head and began to stir. His friends applied a tumbler of 
brandy-and-water to his lips ; he emptied it at a draught, 
sat on end, and looked about him. The marker burst out 
laughing, and the fallen man, rising to his feet with a 
sullen shake, addressed himself to Delaney. 

“ Slasher,” said he, “you have not done good business 



“Dropped the bully where he stood.” 


Uncle John ] 


[Page 238 

















. 



















































































































THE SLASHER 


£39 


to-night. It seems to me, we have had six to five the worst 
of it.” 

“ You have,” returned the other good-humouredly. 
“ Nobody pitched into me. The young one staked and 
paid honourable ! Three sovereigns isn’t much, hut it’s 
better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick. This has 
been a fatiguing day. What say you, gentlemen ? Let us 
shut-up shop and make everything snug for the night. I’ll 
stand a bowl of punch and cigars all round.” 

Such a proposal could not but meet with general assent. 
Even the Captain forgot his damaged beauty, and the party, 
drawing their chairs together, prepared to enjoy the small 
hours in the way that pleased them best. 

“ What on earth induced you to go into such a place as 
that ? ” was the first question Maxwell asked the lad, whom 
he still held by the arm, as they emerged on the open 
space of Leicester Square. “ I never saw such a den of 
thieves in my life. Why, those fellows would have thought 
nothing of hocussing your liquor, turning your pockets 
inside out, and perhaps lending you a heave over one of 
the bridges, if they thought you would be troublesome 
when you came to yourself. You’ve had a squeak, young 
man ; don’t go so near the edge again ! ” 

“ I believe I have,” answered the other, much delighted 
with the perilous nature of his late experience. “ But I 
had often heard fellows talk of London night-houses, and I 
wanted to know what they were like. I never can resist 
a chance of seeing life.” 

“Of seeing death, you mean,” answered Horace. “I 
can’t conceive a better chance of being robbed and murdered. 
It’s lucky I came in when I did.” 

“ You’re a good fellow,” answered Perigord, “ and a 
deuced hard-hitter for an eleven-stone man. He was just 
in distance, wasn’t he ? I never saw a fellow go down so 
plumb ! But how long had you been there, and what made 
you come ? I didn’t know you were in the room till just 
before the row.” 

Horace explained how Miss Dennison had requested that 
he would keep an eye on her young friend, dwelling with 
unnecessary prolixity on the kindliness, good sense, and 
other angelic qualities of this incomparable young lady. 


240 


UNCLE JOHN 


“ When I saw you go away arm-in-arm with that aivful 
snob,” he concluded, “ I thought you had taken leave of 
your senses, and it was time for your friends to interfere. 
However, it’s all right now, though I think you must admit 
we are deuced well out of it.” 

“ I have not half thanked you,” replied the other. “ I’m 
not good at thanking fellows ; hut I won’t forget if I live 
to a hundred. I wonder if I shall ever he able to do some- 
thing for you in return.” 

“Will you do what I ask you now?” said the other. 
“ Let me take you to your own door, and promise me you 
will go straight to bed. Have you a latch-key?” 

But the young gentleman had not got a latch-key, old 
Perigord holding that the possession of such an instrument 
might lead his son into had company and many tempta- 
tions ; so a sleepy butler had to be aroused, who scanned 
his young master narrowly while he let him in, wondering, 
perhaps, that any free agent should go to bed so decently 
sober. 

“ Good-night, young one,” said Maxwell, when they 
parted. “Mind you put your candle out. And, I say, 
don’t go to any more of these night-houses — you mightn’t 
get off so easily another time.” 

Then he jumped into a cab and drove to his own night- 
house, an exceedingly pleasant resort at no great distance 
from Pall Mall, where from midnight till about 2 a.m. he 
was sure to find kind looks, hearty greetings, pleasant 
acquaintances, and familiar friends. 


CHAPTER XX 


A NIGHT-HOUSE 

The resort Maxwell affected, though in many respects 
comfortable and even commodious, can bear no comparison 
in size and magnificence with those spacious clubs, which 
are nevertheless deserted for its attractions. On a hot 
night — and nights are sometimes very hot in St. James’s 
Street towards the close of the London season — it disgorges 
its members so freely that these may be seen thronging the 
entrance, and even overflowing the narrow street into the 
thoroughfare it joins. Emerging from his cab, Horace 
found himself in the centre of a familiar group who greeted 
him with less ceremony than welcome, lavishing no small 
measure of that sprightly conversation young people call 
“ chaff,” while carrying lighted cigars in their mouths and 
beakers of cooling drinks in their hands. 

“ Why here’s Horace ! ” exclaimed the youngest of the 
party, a beardless champion belonging to the Household 
Brigade, with the frame of a child, the courage of a lion, 
and the audacity of a Queen’s Counsel. “ Horace — coat 
torn, hand tied up ! having skedaddled, no doubt, from the 
fight, like his Roman namesake, and left his shield behind 
him, wisely but not well.” 

“ What do you know about shields, you little beggar ! ” 
was the reply. “ I could cover the whole of your body with 
my flat hat.” 

“ Elat hat, or hat belonging to a flat,” retorted the 
other; “ it might then protect some small allowance of 
brains which it has never done yet. But a truce to this 
fooling, Horatius Flaccus. Stow your chaff, and give an 
16 241 


242 


UNCLE JOHN 


account of yourself. If sober, tell us all about it. It 
drunk, go home, and go to bed.” 

“ Don’t bother,” answered Maxwell. “ There’s no story 
to tell ; and if there was I couldn’t speak till I have had a 
drink.” 

“ Drink to me only with thine eyes, and I will wink w r ith 
mine,” sang the tiny soldier, in an exceedingly sweet voice, 
putting his own beaker of gin-sling to the other’s lips, who 
half emptied it at a draught. “ Is it cooling? is it refresh- 
ing ? Does it cut all the way down like a saw ? Speak 
now, and stick to the unvarnished, man of brute force and 
ungovernable passions. You’ve been fighting like blazes, 
and you’ve been licked like fun.” 

“ You’ll be licked like fun yourself,” answered Horace, 
laughing, “ if you won’t hold your tongue and give the 
others a chance. No, I did think I should have had to 
fight once to-night, only fortunately for me, my man 
wouldn’t stand up.” 

“ Then you must have hit him when he was down ! ” 
said the other, pointing to stains of blood on the handker- 
chief Maxwell had bound round his hand. “ Quite right, 
Horatius — safe, prudent, and effectual, if un-English. 
Thus, I am convinced, did your namesake keep the 
bridge so well 

* In the brave days of old.’ ” 


“ Stop that noisy little beggar’s mouth with a cigar, 
somebody,” said a stout, good-natured-looking man joining 
the group. “Let’s hear all about it, Horace. Did you 
drop into a general scrimmage, or what? Was it a rough- 
and-tumble, or a regular set-to ? ” 

Maxwell had now got an audience in and about the 
porch, to whom, nothing loth, he detailed his night’s 
adventure. Everybody likes to be the hero of the hour, 
and a man who tells his own story must be a bad narrator, 
if he cannot, at least, convey by implication, the fearless- 
ness of his conduct and general nobility of his nature. I 
do not suppose Sinbad ever told his audience what a funk 
he was in when the Roc carried him high in air over the 
Yalley of Diamonds, or allowed them to suppose he was in 


A NIGHT-HOUSE 


243 


any way over-mastered by the Old Man of the Sea, and 
couldn’t have kicked him off whenever he pleased ! Nobody 
can see his own face except in a glass. Nobody can judge 
of his own character but as it is reflected in its effect on 
his neighbours. To gain the highest opinion of a man, it 
is only necessary to read his autobiography, and if my 
friends would think well of me, they have but to appraise 
me at the value I set upon myself. 

So Horace, with many interruptions, detailed his own 
doings throughout the evening, touching on the incident 
that had disturbed the propriety of Mrs. Pike’s ball. 

When he arrived at the mention of that festivity, Percy 
Mortimer, cigar in mouth and tumbler in hand like the 
rest, joined the circle from within, as did also our friend 
Captain Nokes, on leave from Middleton, between returns. 
These gentlemen listened in profound silence — Percy, 
because he seemed a little out of spirits ; Nokes, because 
no man acted more conscientiously up to the spirit of that 
Eastern proverb, which declares “ Speech is silver, but truly 
silence is gold ! ” 

Not so the young Guardsman, who exclaimed, “ Why, 
that’s the chap we turned out of Hurlingham, who said he 
had been asked by the Peruvian Minister ! A good-looking, 
bad-looking fellow, wasn’t he — with dark hair and an eye 
like a hawk ? ” 

“ That’s not my man,” answered Horace. “ I don’t 
know what his eyes were like, for he wore spectacles, but 
he seemed to look pretty sharp out of them ! And his hair 
was as light as yours. He might have been your elder 
brother, only he was twice as big, not half so noisy, and 
much better behaved.” 

“ That’s impossible ! ” returned the other. “ You have 
now destroyed your last hold on our credulity. After such 
a statement nobody will believe another word ! ” 

“ When the General turned him out,” continued Max- 
well, “he never moved a muscle of his countenance; I 
thought then it was really a mistake. There was some- 
thing of the Yankee, too, in his accent, and I made up my 
mind he was an American gentleman who had come to the 
wrong house. I am satisfied now that he is a sharper of 
the highest calibre.” 


244 


UNCLE JOHN 


“So am I,” observed Percy Mortimer. “ I’ll tell you 
why afterwards. Go on.” 

Horace continued. 

“ Old Pike, who is as good a fellow as ever stepped, was 
quite deceived by the man’s manner, and apologised freely ; 
but a young fellow named Perigord, a capital boy not long 
from Eton, smelt a rat, and followed him out of the house, 
I suppose, to see that he didn’t make away with the 
spoons.” 

“ Bravo, Pieman ! ” interrupted the small soldier. 
“Perigord was my fag — I taught him all he knows.” 

“I followed the young one, to see he didn’t get into 
mischief,” proceeded Horace, “ and ran the couple to ground 
in a queer billiard-playing kind of place — No. 99J, Cheap 
Street, Haricot Lane. I had plenty of time to learn the 
address, for I waited outside ten minutes and more, con- 
sidering the next move.” 

“ Funking, no doubt,” said his small tormentor. “ Go 
on, Horace, the more you looked at it the less you liked it, 
I’ll take my oath.” 

“I blundered on, at any rate,” replied the other, “ and 
found this young beggar, fresh from Eton, settled down to 
ecarte. ficarte if you please ! with my friend in the 
spectacles ! I need not say I watched him pretty closely, 
and he showed no inclination whatever to play on the 
square. It’s an old joke enough, but I never saw a fellow 
pass the king so well. He did it while he sneezed, and I 
don’t believe, though I was watching, I could have detected 
the action but for a scar on his left hand, that I couldn’t 
keep my eyes off. A deuced ugly seam it was, from the 
knuckles right up to the wrist.” 

“ That’s the man ! ” muttered Percy Mortimer. “ What 
fools the cleverest of these scoundrels are ! ” 

Nokes, listening attentively, removed the cigar from his 
mouth and emitted a volume of smoke. Nothing more. 

“ When he marked the king it was my turn,” continued 
Horace. “ I told him he was a thief; and that brought his 
‘ pals ’ upon me. I told them they were all thieves, and I 
might as well have saved my breath, for they must have 
known it before. One chap tried to cut up rough, and 
butted his stupid head against my knuckles. Hang him ! 


A NIGHT-HOUSE 


245 


lie has taken all the skin off ! There was a good deal of 
had language, but not much of a scrimmage, and I brought 
my man out only three sovereigns the worse, gave him some 
good advice, saw him safe home, and came on here. This 
is a long story. Let us talk of something else. Nokes, 
my boy, how does the world go on at Middleton ? ” 

But Captain Nokes, wrapped in profound silence, had 
disappeared from the circle, and was already bowling along 
Pall Mall in a cab, on his way to Scotland Yard. 

“Let’s walk home,” said Percy Mortimer, running his 
arm through Maxwell’s as they emerged in the fresh air ; 
“ I sent my brougham away when I came here. It’s a fine 
night, or rather morning, — and look here, old fellow, I’ve 
got something to say to you.” 

“ Now for it,” thought his friend, “ he’s engaged ! — he’s 
going to tell me so. Good-bye, Annie. Perhaps he’ll ask 
me to be his best man.” 

But it is only justice to say that he resolved to bear the 
trial without wincing, and honestly from his heart to con- 
gratulate the man he liked, on winning from him the woman 
he loved. 

Percy’s manner, however, was anything but that of a 
successful suitor. It was impossible for one so sleek, com- 
posed, and self-contained, to look really disturbed, but he 
seemed about as much ruffled as does a well-groomed horse, 
when its coat stares in an east wind. 

“ I never thought that scoundrel would come to England 
again,” he began ; whereat Horace, with his thoughts fixed 
on Annie Dennison, started in surprise. “ But your de- 
scription is quite enough for me . The man who tried to rob 
young Perigord to-night is a sharper I have known for 
years. I am ashamed to say he did me out of seven 
hundred pounds at a sitting by the very trick you detected 
so cleverly. I wasn’t sure till you described his hand. 
Shall I tell you how he came by that scar? He was 
playing cards at San Francisco with a clean, close-shaved, 
sharp-featured man, who looked like a cross between a 
steeplechased jockey and a Methodist parson, but was really 
what was called ‘ a sportsman ’ in the States — a fellow who 
will play with and cheat you at any game you like to 
mention. Seeing it was a case of diamond cut diamond, 


246 


UNCLE JOHN 


with a heavy stake on, our friend had made up his mind to 
win, right or wrong. He had kept a card up his sleeve, 
which at the critical moment he concealed under his left 
hand, stretched carelessly on the table. The game went 
on, and his hand never moved from its place. Suddenly 
there rose a scream of pain, an oath, and a rush of all the 
company towards the players. Blood was spouting over 
the cards, and our friend’s hand was nailed to the table by 
the blade of a bowie-knife, its haft still quivering from the 
force with which the steel had been driven through flesh 
and tendons and paste-board, into the wood. ‘ If the ace 
of spades ain’t sticking on my toothpick when you take it 
out,’ said the sportsman, ‘you shall do as much by me. 
If it is, you’re a bloody cheat, you are ! and it’s no more 
than you deserve ! ’ The ace of spades was transfixed by 
the bowie-knife, and everybody said the cruel, quiet, clean- 
shaved man had done right. Long before this I had dropped 
the swindler’s acquaintance, hut I could not leave him in a 
foreign town to die of lock-jaw, as seemed highly probable. 
I sent for a doctor, had him taken care of, and his wife 
nursed him patiently till he got well. Very soon after they 
were separated. She was a handsome resolute woman, to 
all appearance a thoroughbred lady. Why she ever married 
him, or how she could stand it so long as she did, often 
puzzled me exceedingly, for though I did not know her 
well, I could detect in every word and gesture that she 
belonged to quite a different class from her husband. The 
man’s name was Delaney. Can you guess, Horace, who his 
wife is ? ” 

“ Not Miss Blair ! — not Mrs. Lexley ! ” exclaimed the 
other. “Good heavens, Percy! what a complication!” 

“ It is a complication,” said Mortimer. “I had always 
understood the scoundrel was dead, and Mrs. Delaney free 
to marry again. Poor Lexley ! he seemed foolishly fond of 
her. What a sword is hanging over his head ! ” 

“ She has left him,” answered Horace, “ and I suppose 
nobody in the world was ever so terribly cut up. I hear 
he’s been almost out of his mind.” 

“ Left him? ” repeated Percy; “ not to go hack to this 
fellow ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” replied the other, loth to betray the 


A NIGHT- HOUSE 


247 


confidence Laura had reposed in him, but desiring above 
all things to ask his friend’s advice. “Don’t you think 
one ought to find out ? Don’t you think one ought to tell 
Lexley ? He’s a dear friend, I can’t hear to think he is 
so miserable. I am at my wits’ end. What would you 
advise ? ” 

Percy wondered for a few seconds, looking very grave and 
wise in the grey light of the summer morning, then he shook 
his head and delivered the following opinion : 

“ I should wait. When in doubt what to do, he is a 
wise man who does nothing. In the moral as in the 
material world the negative force is strongest of all. Dead 
weight must win in the long run. Where a woman is con- 
cerned, as in the present case, nothing is really to he trusted 
but the chapter of accidents. So much the more reason for 
waiting, as old Dennison says, to see what turns up. The 
sex won’t hear hurrying, I’ve always said so, and yet I 
believe I upset the apple-cart to-night solely by furious 
driving. Horace, I’ve something to tell you. Hang it ! I 
wouldn’t tell it any fellow in the world but you ! ” 

“ Out with it, old man ! ” said Maxwell, while his cheek 
turned a shade paler in the morning light. 

“ You and I have each been in a scrimmage since dinner,” 
was the metaphor in which Mr. Mortimer thought well to 
convey his confidence. “ You’ve given a facer, and I’ve 
had one. Do I look as if I had been knocked down ? I 
feel like it. Will you believe it, Horace, I proposed to a 
woman not three hours ago and she refused me!” 

“ Kefused you ! ” Horace could not have added a word 
to save his life. 

“Asked her in so many words to be my wife, and she 
said ‘ No,’ as plain as I am speaking now. It’s a deuced 
odd thing, unaccountable, and all that, but there’s no 
mistake about it. I will do Miss Dennison the justice to 
say I think she knows her own mind.” 

So heavy was the weight taken off his heart that Horace 
felt as if he must fly up into the air. Loyal to the last, 
however, he made shift to stammer out : 

“I’m sorry for you, old fellow, at any rate ; but won’t 
you try again ? ” 

Mortimer shook his head. “ Never allow a woman 


248 


UNCLE JOHN 


another shot,” said he. “ She mightn’t miss with the 
second barrel. I believe the girl is quite right. She had 
my interest at heart, and perhaps I’m better off as I 


CHAPTER XXI 


MIDDLETON GAOL 

Gloomy as must have been the “ dungeon dark ” of a feudal 
castle in the Middle Ages, such as that in which William 
of Deloraine complained he lingered “long months three,” 
filthy as the miry hole from which a pitying eunuch drew 
the prophet out by his arm-pits with clouts and cords, I 
can conceive nothing more suggestive of utter hopelessness 
and desolation than the order, the discipline, the whitewash, 
the blank bare vacuity of an English prison. No merciful 
obscurity veils its stern ruthless calm, no speck nor stain 
relieves its bright, blinding monotony of cleanliness; the 
bird of the air lights not within its precincts, and the very 
insect, in unconscious zest of life, seems instinctively to 
shun the living tomb we call a gaol. 

The regularity of its work, its sleep, its meals, as hour 
after hour drags on in slow unvarying routine, with the 
same fare, the same gaoler, the same chaplain, to appear 
and disappear at the same stated periods, the utter absence 
of hope, fear, excitement, amusement, all the interests that 
stir the human mind, produce a deadening effect on the 
brain, similar to that which numbs the body in a general 
stagnation of the blood. 

Add to this the stupefying result of silence, unbroken 
from week’s end to week’s end, and imagine, if you can, 
the state of an uneducated intellect, subject to such a 
process, of a turbulent disposition reduced to so profound 
and exasperating a calm. Were it not for the sense of 
constant supervision, which to the prisoner is as his con- 
science to the free agent, there is no saying to what depths 
of depravity those might sink of whose expiation to society 


250 


UNCLE JOHN 


we read carelessly in the newspapers as “ committed by the 
worthy magistrate for so many months of solitary confine- 
ment with hard labour.’ ’ 

The criminal is punished in order to deter others from 
crime. It would be well if before the eyes of every man 
who is tempted to sin against his brother, could pass a 
scene like that which I shall attempt to describe, as enacted 
in a grim and impregnable modern fortress, called Middleton 
Gaol. 

It is an hour after noon, on a dull day in the dead of 
winter. The sky, or that patch of it which can he seen 
from the prison-yard, wears a gloomy, lowering, I might 
almost say, sulky aspect, such as denotes a black frost. 
There lies a wide sheet of water, called Middleton Mere, 
not half a mile from the town, and wild-fowl that have 
flown inland from the coast are dipping and paddling and 
pruning their feathers along its edge. The flap and splash 
of their wings, the continuous babble of their call can be 
heard within the gaol. 

An old willow-tree has stood for years without the build- 
ing, its pliant branches shooting above that smooth, solid 
masonry. A gust of the keen north wind strips off its last 
few shrivelled leaves. One of these drops noiselessly into 
the prison, where it flits like a living thing from corner to 
corner, leaping and falling, and whirling round and round, 
as if in frantic efforts to escape. 

Little children can be heard at play outside. Shrill 
voices break the monotonous tramp of some eight or ten 
prisoners taking their enforced allowance of air and exercise 
in one of the stone-paved courts. They keep step like a 
squad of soldiers, but sullenly, like soldiers ripe for mutiny, 
and seldom raise their eyes from the square level flags, each 
so like the other, at their feet, unless it be to steal a glance 
at the warder on duty — a stout, imperturbable person, whose 
lot, but that he accepts it of his own free will, seems little 
more enviable than their own. 

Twelve hours out of the twenty-four he shares their 
unbroken silence, their irksome confinement — all but their 
labour and their meals. For twelve hours out of the twenty- 
four, his eye must be on the watch, his attention on the 
stretch. He is locked in as they are, he is defenceless as 


MIDDLETON GAOL 


251 


they are, wears no steel at his belt, carries no revolver in 
his hand, but he wields that moral force which is so potent 
in the world outside, which loses none of its dead, unvarying, 
irresistible pressure in a gaol. He has been sitting since 
daybreak in a box like a pulpit, overlooking some twenty 
cells of the ward under his especial charge. Mirrors 
skilfully adjusted, enable him to detect every look and 
action of his prisoners, as each remains in his own separate 
compartment, leaving it only when the click that produces his 
number warns him it is time to take his turn on the tread- 
mill. Even there he holds no communication with his 
neighbour, and never sees his face. Twin brothers might 
occupy adjoining cells for years, without recognising each 
other by a glance, a whisper, or a sign. It is hardly pos- 
sible for one who has not tried the experiment to conceive 
how a man loses his own identity when he becomes a 
numeral. No. 100 begins to wonder if he ever was John 
Smith, if he ever did lay Mrs. John Smith’s head open 
with a fire-shovel, or squander in gin and profligacy the 
wages that should have found the little Smiths in bread. 
The warder knows him as No. 100. He knows himself as 
No. 100. After a while his knowledge of things in general 
seems dwindled down to these two facts. 

Mutiny is thus checked by rendering combination im- 
possible ; and the warder, relieving his weariness only by 
the change from a sitting to a standing posture, is as safe 
with his charge and quite as despotic as the captain of a 
man-of-war on his own quarter-deck. 

It is not surprising that under such conditions vigilance 
may sometimes relax — attention wander, for a minute at a 
time. 

Bound and round the prison-yard falls the dull tramp of 
footsteps in that weary sullen march ; the gates are locked, 
the walls are smooth and high. Twenty yards off are fresh- 
turned mould, wet grass, bushes, freedom, and an un- 
interrupted view for miles. Twenty yards off are joy, 
liberty, paradise — for a bird of the air ; but for no creature 
without wings. The court, between a whitewashed build- 
ing, wherein cooking is done, and the outer wall, may be 
some fourteen feet wide. The wall itself is at least equally 
high, but considerably over-topped by the cooking-house, 


252 


UNCLE JOHN 


on the sloping roof of which certain repairs, entailing the 
necessity of a slight scaffolding, are in process of completion. 
A desperate running leap taken from the edge of that roof 
might land a desperate man on the coping of the outer wall. 
Once there, if he dared drop fully four times his own height, 
he would find himself outside the prison. 

No. 99 has calculated the chance day and night ever 
since that scaffolding was raised. No. 99 gives no trouble. 
He has been a model convict from the time he came in, 
was perfectly clean in his person when subjected to the 
preliminary wash, and neither scowled nor blasphemed 
when they cut his hair. He has learned the routine of the 
gaol with unusual quickness and docility, eats his prison 
fare with a good appetite and a thankful smile, and raises 
his eyes frankly, though respectfully, to the warder’s face, 
thereby winning golden opinions of that official, very weary 
of the downcast, sidelong glances to which he is accustomed. 
No. 99, he thinks, must intend to earn by good behaviour 
certain authorised indulgences, a certain increase of liberty, 
during his imprisonment ; for as there are gradations of 
temperature in the Turkish hath, and, if we believe the 
poets, in a hotter place still, so there are degrees of con- 
finement, even in the captivity of a gaol. 

But it is noteworthy that the governor, a grim old 
veteran, who, for many years of his life has been gaining 
experience of humanity in its very worst type, a man with- 
out a fancy or a prejudice, on whom it is hopeless to impose, 
has placed a private mark of his own in the prison-hooks 
against the entry that records the admission and verifies 
the identity of No. 99. 

The squad of prisoners nearly complete a circle, as they 
pace round the warders standing in their centre, His back 
is therefore turned to each in rotation, it is also turned to 
the cooking-house and the scaffolding, consisting of two 
upright poles and one transverse bar, that has not yet been 
taken down. No. 99 glances stealthily upwards each time 
he passes the woodwork, and his eye grows brighter with 
every glance. Now and again he moistens his palms 
furtively with his tongue, opening his shoulders and 
loosening his joints like an acrobat preparing for a feat. 

There is a wild-beast show to-day in Middleton. Four- 


MIDDLETON GAOL 


253 


footed convicts, whose imprisonment is lightened by the 
admiration of mankind, are rubbing against the bars of 
their cages in the market-place to the deep bass notes of a 
gong, sounded by a red-faced man in velveteen, and con- 
fidently accepted by the towns-people for the lion’s roar. 
Every now and then a flourish of trumpets and the roll of a 
drum deaden all other noises, penetrating even to the prison 
court. One of these bursts arrests the warder’s attention ; 
he puts his hand to his ear and listens with head aslant. 
The man was a soldier long ago. As the music swells 
louder and louder he is a soldier again, marching down 
into the trenches to defy the Russian guns ; before him lies 
Sebastopol, with its calm sea, its stone quays, its white 
buildings, its ships at anchor, and the blue Crimean sky 
above all — for one moment and no more. 

In that moment No. 99 has sprung at the scaffolding 
like a wild cat, swarmed up the nearest pole, and reached 
the roof of the cooking-house. His figure, running along 
the slates, comes out clear and sharp against the grey sky. 

The convicts themselves seem helpless for amazement. 
The spirit of insubordination would catch like wild-fire, but 
there is no one to assume the lead, and they look blankly 
in each other’s faces, none daring to set the example or 
propose mobbing the warder to death where he stands. 
Instinctively, however, they help their comrade all they can 
by crowding, coughing, scuffling with their feet and grouping 
themselves about the spot from whence he took his spring. 

The warder is the first to break the rule of silence. 
“ Hold on, man ! By the Lord you’ll be killed ! ” he 
exclaims, as No. 99, running wildly down the slanting 
slated roof, clears the court below in one frantic leap that 
lands him on the coping of the prison wall — hands, knees, 
feet, and face altogether — doubled up like a ball. 

One instant he poises on the outer edge, bare, smooth, 
and slippery, then rolls off it into freedom, with a fall of 
more than twenty feet. 

The warder has already recovered his astonishment. 
The prisoners are promptly ordered back into their cells. 
The alarm is given. The escape reported to the governor, 
and a pursuit organised without delay. The chase, if 
exciting, is soon over. Amongst the scrub and rubbish 


254 


UNCLE JOHN 


that fringe the foundations of the prison wall, limp and 
motionless lies a bundle of convict’s grey, that looks at 
first sight to be a mere heap of cast-off clothes. It 
represents No. 99, nevertheless, and is carried off to the 
gaol infirmary, where it is visited forthwith by the surgeon, 
who pronounces the case dangerous and likely to prove 
fatal, recording it methodically on a fresh ruled page, in 
the following entry : 

“ No. 99. Compound fracture of arm and thigh-bones ; 
fracture of clavicle ; lesion of pectoral muscles ; concussion 
of the spine.” 

This is why Lexley walks into Middleton faster than 
usual, with an air of energy and vitality that he has not 
worn since the fatal day when his wife left her home. 

It was bright summer weather then, it is the depth of 
winter now. The intervening time has been, with the 
clergyman, one constant fight against the powers of evil ; 
against those busy fiends who have never ceased to haunt 
the heart without a hope, since they whispered the blas- 
phemy in Job’s ear that bade him “ Curse God and die.” 

They have piled Lexley with all their craft and all their 
weapons, attacking him in company, in solitude, under the 
poor man’s roof, by the sick man’s bed, in the pulpit, the 
reading-desk, at the very altar itself, till the brave spirit 
quailed, the strong frame trembled, and poor vexed humanity 
could hut cry aloud to Heaven from the depth of its despair. 
Then came down help, solace, respite, if not from sorrow, 
at least from agony of pain, vouchsafed in no celestial 
vision, in no miraculous interposition, but in the daily round 
of common tasks and common duties, in the plodding 
journey along the lowly path ; in the kindly word, offering 
comfort to another; the noble action, careless and regardless 
of self ; in the cup of cold water, bestowed from the holiest 
of all motives ; in the love that, loving its brother whom it 
did see, offered its Father whom it did not see, that accept- 
able tribute which, even here on earth, is never without 
reward. 

Yet the struggle was hard, and left its traces deeply 
scored on the features and hearing of the man. He had 


MIDDLETON GAOL 


255 


grown gaunt and pale ; and black whiskers were already 
streaked with grey, and Algernon Lexley, in the first prime 
of manhood, looked like one whose task was already more 
than half done. I have seen a few such faces on earth 
among benefactors of their kind, among martyrs of science, 
among religious orders, among pious enthusiasts, to whose 
piety the scoffer could only object that it was too much 
tinged with self-sacrifice and asceticism. If indeed the dis- 
embodied spirit preserves any resemblance to the covering 
it wore in life, I cannot but think that many such faces will 
be seen in heaven. 

Greater intellects have been destroyed by a less sorrow 
than that which turned the brightness of Lexley’s life into 
utter darkness ; its sweetness into wormwood and gall. He 
prayed that only he might not go mad, and his prayer was 
granted. It took time before he could understand and 
appreciate the full extent of his calamity. He searched, 
he pondered, he made inquiries, cautiously indeed, and with 
exceeding care not to compromise her fair name, whose 
image, in spite of all, he still treasured in his heart of 
hearts ; but when search, surmise, and inquiries produced 
no result, he forced himself to accept the inevitable and 
look his affliction in the face. He could but arrive at one 
conclusion. She had left him for another ! voluntarily, as 
appeared from her letter, and with so much of remorse as 
seemed natural in a woman of strong passions, not entirely 
without a sense of right and wrong. 

Stinging, maddening, as was that reflection — scorn, anger, 
jealousy were yet dashed with something softer and sadder 
than resentment. 

The shame of it, like Othello’s, was hard to bear, but 
there was also “ The pity of it, Iago ! ” 

The love that has become part of a man can no more be 
drained out of his system than the marrow can be sucked 
from his bones. Of all his trials the cruellest was to dream 
that she came back to him, and laid her fair head upon his 
breast — and he forgave her. 

Athletic training had been sneered at, muscular Chris- 
tianity derided, the old vexed question, whether the Greeks 
were right when they taught their young men boxing and 
music, argued over and over again ; but I think there can 


256 


UNCLE JOHN 


be no question tliat be who has learned to gain a mastery 
over the body has gone a long way towards gaining a 
mastery over the mind. The advantage of training consists 
far less in the physical strength it developes than in the 
mental power it denotes. The being trained is a mere 
result ; the being able to train is a mighty motive cause. 
The musician must possess an ear, the boxer a biceps, or 
the whole Greek system becomes as patent a fallacy as 
any circular, never-ending, impossible syllogism of the 
Porched ; but granted ear and muscle, the habit of refining 
the one and toughening the other is the habit of con- 
quering difficulties by a scientific application of graduated 
exertion. 

Lexley had gone into training at College for many a feat 
of strength and endurance ; the principles that had in- 
vigorated his body he now bought to bear upon his mind. 

His nature had given him energy, his religion taught 
him unselfishness; when the first agony of sorrow was 
overcome he argued something in this way : 

“I am not put into the world for the indulgence of my 
own passions, either in pleasure or in pain. I have no 
more right to withdraw from my fellow-creatures to mourn 
than to feast. Here is my place — here is my work. The 
place must be filled — the work must be done; weak, 
prostrate, mangled as I am, how can I make myself fit 
for the task? Only by constant care, unceasing effort, 
vigilance unrelaxed, I must work and pray. Pray that 
I may be strong enough to work, work that I may be 
composed enough to pray. Oh ! if I were not a re- 
sponsible being, that I might lie down and rest ! But 
I am a responsible being, and my rest, if indeed I 
can ever rest again, is only to be earned through severe 
and unremitting toil. Welcome then labour! however 
hard, however harassing, however painful, let it but be 
in my Master’s vineyard ! and when night comes, for every 
man to receive his penny, 4 home to go and take his wages,’ 
who so glad to be released as I ! ” 

Then he sketched out for himself a plan of occupation 
that left him not a moment unemployed. Leisure meant 
memory, and memory was simply torment. 

There was much to do in his parish, but not half enough 


MIDDLETON GAOL 


257 


for him. To the neighbouring clergymen he proffered his 
assistance, taking their marriages, baptisms, and burials, 
and on Sundays a service and sermon in addition to his 
own two. Lest all this should be insufficient, he had now 
accepted the duty of the gaol chaplain — a pale hectic young 
man, to whom at this season he could show no greater 
kindness than a transfer that enabled him to leave Middleton 
for the soft sea-breezes of the Channel Islands. 

The governor took greatly to this new visitor. There was 
something in his silence, his gravity, the simple earnestness 
of his demeanour, that pleased an old soldier, himself a man 
of few words, and those more remarkable for accuracy than 
polish. “ The new parson looks like business,” he said ; 
and “ to look like business,” in the governor’s opinion, 
summed up all the most admirable qualities of man. 
Though he could not induce Lexley to dine with him, 
nor even to drink a glass of sherry in the middle of the 
day, he received him with a stern suppressed cordiality 
when he arrived, and looked after him with a grim smile of 
approval when he went away. 

It was in consequence of a note from this worthy 
that Lexley walked so swiftly into Middleton, looking like 
a man who saw his duty laid out before him, and would 
do it to the uttermost. The governor’s communication was 
characteristically simple and laconic. It consisted of two 
lines : 

“ Middleton Gaol, Middleton. 

“Beverend Sir, — Please attend infirmary, as soon as 
possible. Bad case. Surgeon’s report ‘ Hopeless.’ Out 
of his hands now, and in yours . 

“ (Signed) John Strong, Governor .” 

When Lexley entered the prison he found his corre- 
spondent waiting at the door of his private room outside 
the gate. 

“ Am I too late ? ” asked the parson, who had calculated 
he could save time by starting at once, and trusting to his 
own pedestrian powers rather than wait while a horse was 
got ready. 

“ No,” answered the governor. “ Man will live till night. 

Come in, and warm yourself.” 

17 


258 


UNCLE JOHN 


“I’ll go and see the poor fellow first,” said Lexley. 

“ There is not a moment to lose.” 

“ Must wait till Blades leaves him,” was the reply. 

“ Come in.” 

So Lexley entered and took a seat by the fire in a cheer- 
less apartment, uncurtained, uncarpeted, something between 
an orderly-room, a surgery, and a counting-house. 

“ Glass of sherry ? No. Then I will. Here’s your 
health, sir. When did you get my note?” 

“ Three-quarters of an hour ago,” answered the clergyman, 
looking at his watch. 

“ And it’s four miles. Good walking ! ” observed the 
governor, with an air of approval. Then he emptied his 
glass, locked up the bottle, and said no more. 

Lexley’ s thoughts were beginning to travel — hack — back 
— always hack to the point at which he dared not let them 
dwell. He broke the silence with a question. 

“Can you tell me anything about this poor fellow, Mr. 
Strong? His age, his moral character, the crime that 
brought him here?” 

For answer the governor opened a hook that looked 
like a ledger, and indicating a particular column with his 
finger, pushed it over the table for Lexley to read. The 
information imparted seemed scanty enough, hut the 
clergyman’s curiosity was excited by a cross in red ink, 
on the margin opposite the convict’s number, and he asked 
what it meant. 

Strong winked solemnly. “ That’s my mark,” said he. 
“ You’ll find six like it in those three volumes, and no 
more. I’ll take care never to put them seven into the same 
ward.” 

“Does it mean they are dangerous?” asked Lexley in 
some surprise. 

“ It means they’re artful,” answered the governor. “ It 
means they can communicate with each other in ways of 
their own. It means they could lay their heads together 
to burn us out if they had a mind. I kept the hooks of 
Southgate Prison on that system for thirteen years, and 
never so much as a mess-kid damaged. Then they moved 
me here, and appointed that man from the Artillery. He 
neglected my precautions, and what was the upshot ? An 


MIDDLETON GAOL 


259 


outbreak. A mutiny. Two warders injured and one dis- 
abled for life. Prevention is better than cure.” 

It was a long speech for the governor. The clergyman 
reflected how he could best awake the dying convict to a 
sense of his situation while he listened. 

“ Then this is one of the worst characters you have got ? ” 
said he, rather as it seemed in answer to his own thoughts 
than with a desire for information. 

“ Bad as can be ! ” replied the other. “ But he’ll not be 
here long. One of your half-gentlemen, this is. They 
always want most looking after. It’s not a common 
prisoner that tries to break out of such a place as ours. 
And he did get out too. Well, he’s finished his time now. 
It is to be hoped he will be conscious enough to see you, sir. 
Here’s Blades. Come in, Mr. Blades. I expect it’s no 


CHAPTER XXII 

DISCHARGED 

Blades was a rough and ready, hard-featured personage, 
with the resolute eye, yet good-humoured expression, we so 
often observe in surgeons and seafaring men. Each pro- 
fession is always, so to speak, before an enemy. Emergencies 
arise at any moment to test thier utmost nerve, and call 
forth all their ingenuity. It would have been impossible to 
discover from his countenance the opinion Mr. Blades enter- 
tained on the case he had recently left, but he walked to the 
fire, warmed his hands, and shook his head. 

“ How long d’ye give him ? ” asked the governor. 

“Impossible to say,” was the professional answer. 
“ Man is quite conscious. That is the worst sign of 
all. He may live till to-morrow morning. The organs 
are healthy, and the vital powers unusually strong. At the 
same time, if Mr. Lexley is to see him, I think it would he 
well to put off no more time.” 

Then the doctor bowed to the clergyman, and the 
clergyman to the doctor, with something of the formal 
respect paid to each other by the seconds in a duel. 

“ Is there any danger from agitation ? ” asked Lexley, as 
the surgeon led the way through cold whitewashed passages, 
to the cold whitewashed apartment where his patient lay. 
“ My duty is imperative, but when the hour-glass has so 
nearly run out, we must be careful how we shake the sands. 
While there is life there is hope.” 

“ Excuse me, Mr. Lexley,” answered Blades. “ My 
business is with the life, yours with the hope. I should 
be sorry to think that in this case there was as little margin 
for the one as the other.” 


260 


DISCHARGED 


261 


“ He is doomed then ? ” said Lexley. “ God help him ! 
— so soon to depart — so short a time to prepare. I say, 
God help him ! ” He raised his hat reverently, and the 
surgeon looked shrewdly at him from under his bushy 
eyebrows. 

“ Amen ! ” assented the latter. “ We can’t. You need 
have no scruple in doing your duty, Mr. Lexley, lest it 
should interfere with mine. The man is sinking hour 
by hour. I should say he will be gone by sun-down. 
Certainly before to-morrow morning — where, you know 
better than I do. Good day. My assistant is within 
call. Either of us can be with you at a moment’s notice.” 

He opened the door while he spoke, and Lexley found 
himself standing by the death-bed of No. 99. 

Supine, motionless, swathed in bandages as if he had 
already become a corpse, there was yet in the convict's eye 
a sparkle of light and recognition, that seemed strangely at 
variance with the warped sunken features, the pale drawn 
face, from which life was ebbing fast. His voice, too, was 
strong, and though he lay stretched out so helplessly, a 
certain contraction of the muscles denoted that he would 
have risen to greet his visitor if he could. 

“ Thank you, sir,” said he. “ I expected you’d come. 
I don’t think much of your sort in a general way, and I’ve 
said to myself many a time lately, * He’s too good for the 
trade.’ I know you, Mr. Lexley, though you don’t know 
me.” 

“ My poor fellow,” replied the clergyman, “ it’s not me 
we are here to talk about, it’s yourself. You are going a 
long journey, my man, though it will soon be over ; and 
you’re going to a happy home, if you will but think so, and 
ask to be taken in.” 

No. 99 laughed feebly, and tried to shake his bandaged 
head. 

“ No doubt of the journey,” said he, “ but what sort of a 
welcome I am to get at the end is more than you or I or 
anybody else can tell. At any rate, it will do me no harm 
to speak the truth, and I guess it will do you good. Mr. 
Lexley, I never saw you but once till you came here, and 
then you didn’t see me. I took good care of that. The 
first Sunday you preached to us in chapel you were so 


262 


UNCLE JOHN 


changed I could hardly believe it was the same man. I 
said to myself, 4 He’s terribly cut down ; hut he’s a good 
one ; he’s got grit in him ; he’s the sort that fights on 
their hacks same as on their legs. He doesn’t care a cent 
for himself ; he thinks more of us poor chaps than of his 
own sorrows, his own injuries, and if ever I can undo the 
harm I’ve done him I will.’ Some men take on about 
a woman, Mr. Lexley, and some don’t care. It’s my 
nature not to care. She wasn’t such a had wife to me , 
though she did sometimes get her back up uncommon, and 
that was fatal in our line of business, fatal ! But she had a 
grand appearance, and walked into a room like a duchess. 
If I had been born a duke, I wonder whether I should have 
been a scoundrel just the same ? 

44 I wasn’t hasty with her, neither. I’ve nothing to 
reproach myself with ; the thing couldn’t go on when she 
flew out like a fury at every fresh plant, and refused to take 
her share in the work that earned our daily bread. I 
wouldn’t have left her without money, if I’d had a dollar 
to spare. It wasn’t my fault. I never owed her a grudge, 
and she tried my temper often. I should like to see her 
again, somehow, just to make friends, you know, and say 
good-bye ; but I don’t suppose I ever shall, if what you 
parsons say is true. Never too late ? Isn’t it ? Then it’s 
different there from here. Now it’s a queer thing, Mr. 
Lexley ; you’re a better scholar than me, though I could 
construe my Horace once — and perhaps you’ll explain it, 
hut though I’ve got to cross almost directly, and haven’t 
a notion how I’ll ever reach the shore, I’m thinking much 
less of the future than the past — don’t interrupt me, sir. 
You’re a good man — pray for me if you like, till you’re 
black in the face, if it’s any use. I need it more than 
most ; hut till I have made a clean breast I can’t pray for 
myself, and I wouldn’t if I could. 

4 4 She didn’t care for me, not the turn of a card. I never 
was the sort for her to fancy, not from the first. Why, I’ve 
seen women married to bigger scamps than me, that fond of 
them they’d follow round like dogs, and think the master 
couldn’t do wrong. It didn’t make me better, you may be 
sure, hut it wasn’t her fault, I suppose. 

44 Well, when I heard she had got a real good berth at 


DISCHARGED 


263 


last I didn’t grudge it, not a bit ; but it seemed only fair, 
didn’t it? that I should have my share, especially as I 
hadn’t struck luck at any one game on the hoard since I 
came home.” 

His accents had grown fainter, from the exertion of 
talking. Lexley thought he was wandering, and waited 
patiently for occasion to bring him back to a sense of his 
condition, and rouse him to the necessity of repentance. 
The clergyman, true to the instincts of his profession, only 
feared that the mind might not be awakened till the body 
slept — that the words of eternal life might be lost in the 
bewildering struggle of death. 

He was mistaken in his estimate of the dying man’s 
state. No. 99 seemed to regain strength with the pause of 
a few moments ; his voice was firm and clear, while he 
resumed : 

“ You remember what she was, Mr. Lexley. Resolute, 
headstrong, not to be persuaded, not to be controlled. She 
gave you the slip, and she gave me the slip. I’ve never 
heard a word about her from that day to this. You know 
me, surely; there’s not much time for talking now. My 
name is Delaney, Mr. Lexley, and the woman you married 
is my wife ! ” 

The clergyman sprang to his feet as if he had been 
shot ; the blood rushed to his brain, his head swam, his 
eyes rolled, the room reeled round him, and he gasped, with 
his hand to his throat, like a man in a fit. Never in all that 
he had gone through was the strain so great on his courage, 
his endurance, his noblest qualities, both of body and mind. 
But for the healthful physical organisation he had taken 
care to preserve in full vigour, that in the greatest emergency 
he might be master of himself, Lexley must have fairly 
lost his head, and failed to sustain the calm dignity of a 
clergyman, the firm bearing of a man. 

In a minute he had recovered himself ; in a minute he had 
taken in the whole position. His great difficulty was to 
keep down the delirious rush of joy that seemed flooding 
his brain, to abstract his mind from the maddening con- 
sideration, that she might be innocent after all — the victim, 
like himself, of a cruel misconception, and that hereafter in 
God’s good time they could come together without sin again. 


264 


UNCLE JOHN 


Delaney eyed him with a pitying, half remorseful look 
that had in it a certain sense of the ludicrous. 

“ Do you forgive me, sir ? ” said he. “ I wasn’t the only 
one to blame after all. She thought I was dead — no 
wonder. Glad of it too, no doubt. Why wasn’t I one of 
those poor fellows that were made to walk the plank ? It’s 
all the same now ; and I can’t understand why I got off 
instead of my mate, when I gave him up my berth. There 
wasn’t much to choose between us. These are the things 
that puzzle a fellow like me. Perhaps I might be a shade 
better than him, and so I got another chance. It hasn’t 
been much to boast of. I had a queer card to play 
yesterday, but I played it well ! I wish you’d been there, 
sir, to see what a flyer I came across the court. Guess 
I frightened old Bogie the warder into next week. 
They’ll talk of the Convict’s Leap, I expect, long after the 
convict’s been hove over the side once for all. I wish I 
had died at sea. Somehow it seems so much fresher and 
freer to be sewn into a hammock and go down with a plunge 
in blue water. It’s no use thinking about that now. I 
can’t lift my hand to shake yours, if I would, Mr. Lexley, 
hut say you forgive me.” 

“ I have nothing to forgive,” answered the other. “ If I 
had, do you think I could bear a grudge at a moment like 
this?” 

‘‘Well, I spoiled your home for you,” resumed Delanc}^, 
“ when I came loafing round to see what I could get. I 
ought to have known my girl’s spirit, and that if she said 
she’d beat me, w T hy beat me she would, though she broke 
her own heart and yours too to win the game. I wish I had 
kept away, Mr. Lexley, now I know what you are.” 

“ No ! no ! ” exclaimed the clergyman, answering perhaps 
his own thoughts, rather than the words of the dying man. 
“ It was the hand of Providence — I see it all now. Surely, 
where there is no intention of evil there can be no sin. 
She saved herself, and she saved me. God bless her ! As 
for you , my good friend, pray to God that He may forgive 
you as you forgive others. Think. Is there any one to 
whom you bear ill will ? ” 

Delaney looked up, and an evil scowl passed over his wan 
death-like face. “ Yes,” he said ; “ that murdering skunk 


DISCHARGED 


265 


who nailed my hand on the table, down to ’Frisco. The 
coward ! My derringer was under the chair, and he knew 
I couldn’t reach it. Ah ! It makes a fellow want to live 
when he thinks about clearing off a few such old scores. 
And if they had hut built the wall five feet lower I might 
have been a free man now, without a scratch ! I’d learned 
a plan of the place long before I came in. I had a map of 
the country for twelve miles round in my head. I could 
have reached that water they call Middleton Mere in three 
minutes. It would have taken four at least to unlock 
the wards and give the alarm. I could have stayed up to 
my neck in mud, if necessary, till dark, and you’re not to 
suppose I was such a fool as to come in here without 
securing a friend in the town who would have found me 
some clothes and a railway ticket ? Why the thing was as 
good as done, only I missed my footing when I reached the 
coping and rolled off. No, Mr. Lexley, I’d forgive the 
villain that set a mark on me, if I could, but I can’t. 

“ Look here, sir. There was a silent chap, a dragoon 
officer he was, in this very town — half simple, I thought 
him. I ought to have known better. How he tracked me 
I can’t rightly tell you, but he set the police on and showed 
them the way himself. It all came out on the trial ; we 
were sitting quietly over our glass, me and some friends 
of mine, thinking no harm, when he came in with a sergeant, 

‘ That’s the man ! ’ says he. ‘ I’ll swear to him anywhere by 
the scar on his left hand ! ’ I needn’t say, sir, when once 
they had me safe it w r as only a question what they’d try me 
for. I’ve done more business, and done it better, than any 
other man in the trade. I mayn’t be cleverer than my 
neighbours, but I was always industrious. I couldn’t bear 
to be idle. Why, if they’d let me out now, I know where 
there’s money to be got that would make me free of the pro- 
fession for life. What’s the use of talking? I shall never 
leave this bed till I’m carried to my grave — within the 
prison bounds too — that’s what riles me most. I should 
like to have died the other side of the wall. Why didn’t I 
break my neck when I broke nearly every bone in my body ? 
There is a providence, I do believe in these things. Per- 
haps you’ll be the gainer. And after all, what’s the odds ? 
The game is played out, and no more cards left to call a 


266 


UNCLE JOHN 


fresh deal. I’m tired, Mr. Lexley. I could sleep, I think, 
now the pain has worn off a hit. Don’t leave me, sir. I’m 
the worst enemy you ever had, and it does me good to see 
you looking kindly down into my face as if I’d been your 
brother. I can believe you ! I say, is it true , Mr. Lexley, 
about heaven, and hell, and all that ? ” 

Of many victories attained by the clergyman over self, 
this was the crowning triumph, wrested from the death-bed 
of a hardened sinner, whose time for repentance had become 
a question, not of hours, but of minutes. While the dis- 
closure lately filled his whole being with a rapture not to be 
imagined hut by those who have gone through like tortures, 
to be delivered in a like manner, he could yet coerce his 
energies to the task before him, could force his mind to 
concentrate all its powers on the duty of saving a fellow- 
creature’s soul. 

By that humble prison bed, in that bare prison chamber, 
was fought once again the great fight between the powers 
of good and evil, that has raged from all time since his 
rebellion who was called the Son of the Morning ; raged 
with diabolical perseverance and ingenuity on the one side, 
with boundless faith and simple constancy on the other. 
And who shall say that in this or in any like conflicts, the 
powers of darkness were permitted to prevail ? 

When the clergyman ceded his place to the doctor, there 
was a calm smile on Delaney’s face. When the latter 
left his patient a few minutes later because all was over, the 
mother that bore him might have recognised in those serene 
and placid features the innocent lineaments of her child. 

“He’s made a better job of his day’s work than I have 
of mine,” said Blades to his assistant when they met in the 
surgery. “Is it because he’s a better hand, think you, or 
only that his is theory and mine practice? ” 

The assistant, a well-brought-up young man, muttered 
something about repentance and the consolations of the 
Church, hut Blades, whose opinions were of the most 
speculative and audacious, was not to he so put off. 

“ Either there’s something in it or there isn’t,” he said. 
“ A doctor can do very little for the body ; I should like to 
know how much a parson can do for a soul. When such 
a man as Lexley believes he can lend a helping hand to 


DISCHARGED 


267 


such an incurable scoundrel as No. 99 after you and I have 
given him up, the matter becomes worth studying, if it’s 
only as a question of curiosity. That the parson is a good 
man I’m as sure as I am that when the vital organs cease 
to act life becomes extinct. I wish we could find out 
exactly why we don’t progress, young man. I sometimes 
think Galen and Paracelsus knew as much as the College 
of Surgeons, and Socrates more than the whole bench of 
bishops.” 

“ It was a desperate leap, sir,” said the other, glad to 
take refuge in the familiar regions of fact. “ You lmow the 
width of the prison-yard, and the height he must have 
fallen had he missed his aim. It is wonderful to think he 
could venture.” 

“ Healthy organs, fine muscular development, and 
admirable nervous system,” replied his senior. “ The 
scoundrel had plenty of pluck, I saw that the moment they 
brought him in. He deserved to get away. We should 
have lost an excellent subject if he had. I should like 
to have pulled him through, I own, but failing that, I think 
I should like to dissect him almost as well! ” 

Leaving the gaol in the early winter twilight, Mr. 
Lexley seemed to tread on air. 

Life and light and hope had been restored to him. He 
could have run and leaped and sung aloud for joy. 

In the first glow and enthusiasm of his happiness he had 
no consideration for the uncertainty of its basis, for the 
difficulties to be encountered before he could realise his 
vision and hold its substance in his grasp. Already, in 
fancy, she was once more installed at the parsonage — that 
woman he had loved and lost, reigning undisputed queen of 
his heart and home. Already he was pouring in her ears 
his past sorrows, his present happiness, his future devotion. 
It seemed quite natural that he should find her settled in 
her own place at the fire-side when he got home. 

Yet on his return, though it had led him many miles out 
of his way, he could not resist the temptation of visiting 
once more the well-remembered walk at Plumpton Priors, 
where she had first listened to his pleading, and promised, 
under certain conditions, to be his own. Scrupulously, 
and with a strength of mind in which he took no little 


2C9 


UNCLE JOHN 


pride, lie had hitherto avoided a spot endeared by such 
memories, embittered by such a contrast between the 
present and the past. Now, in his great joy, it seemed 
only natural that he should convince himself of its reality 
by the organs of sight and sense. The wintry moon shone 
bright and clear as he leaped the wire fencing into the 
laurel walk, and stooped to the earth, grown-up man as he 
was, and priest of Holy Church, to kiss the spot where he 
remembered she had set her foot. Then he went upon his 
knees, leaning his head against a gnarled old oak, and 
thanked God from a full heart, weeping, for the second 
time since his childhood, but now, for very gratitude and 
joy. 

When he rose to his feet he was himself again, and 
remembered, as was his wont, the sorrows and necessities 
of others. 

A poor old woman at the Lodge, a protegee of Annie 
Dennison, being indeed the same who had accepted Horace 
Maxwell’s apostrophe to Barmecide as a compliment to 
herself, was suffering, as poor old women so often do, from 
what she called “ the rheumatics.” It was hardly seven 
o’clock. Lexley could do no less than knock at the door of 
her cottage, and ask how she found herself. 

It is unnecessary to detail the symptoms of her malady, 
as she herself did at great length, nor to explain, which 
that practitioner could not, why the “ doctor’s stuff” did 
her no mortal good. Satisfied that the disease was lodged 
in her bones, she expressed also a solemn conviction that it 
would remain in them long after she had done with those 
and all other component parts of her bodily frame. 

Trusting humbly that she might get to heaven at last, 
she was obviously not without misgivings that even in the 
abode of bliss her spirit would he racked by twinges of the 
old enemy. In the meantime “ her back had been that 
had,” she was kind enough to inform Lexley, “that she 
had not been able to tie her own garters for the last fort- 
night.” Condoling with her on such a state of things, he 
was about to take leave, when she stopped him with a 
question, hitherto delayed, as not bearing on her immediate 
concerns. 

“ Had the parson heard better news of our old squire ? 


DISCHARGED 


269 


The last account was bad as bad could be. She felt sure 
when he drove out of that there gate, a week ago come 
Friday, as she would never see him no more. Else why 
had she been a dreaming of a baby with a candle in its 
hand, and a black dog with a red collar, which everybody 
knowed meant as one or other wasn’t to be here for long ? 
It wasn’t rheumatics, she had heard say ; but worser than 
that, if worser indeed could be.” 

Lexley gathered that his old friend Mr. Dennison had 
been so ill, the Middleton doctor advised removal to 
London for advice, and that the daily accounts of his state 
received at the house became more and more alarming with 
each succeeding post. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


WANTED — A WIFE 

Mr. Dennison’s illness, succeeding the disclosures of the 
dying convict, caused Lexley to determine on starting at 
once for London, where he could ascertain the state of his 
old friend’s health, and prosecute in person the search after 
his wife. He performed his journey in high spirits, 
anticipating, somewhat unreasonably, that he should have 
little difficulty in tracing Laura to her hiding-place, that he 
should find Uncle John recovering, and that, in accordance 
with the universal law of compensation, the happiness of 
the present would make immediate amends for the sorrows 
of the past. 

He knocked at Mr. Dennison’s door and the servant 
shook her head. “ Master was no better since yesterday. 
The doctor was coming again to-night.” — “Was Mrs. 
Dennison at home?” “Mrs. Dennison was out in the 
carriage.” — “Could he see Miss Dennison?” “Miss 
Dennison was staying at Mrs. Pike’s.” He had omitted to 
bring a card. No matter for that ; the servant knew him, 
was glad to see him looking so hearty, and — this with a 
pause of hesitation — hoped as he had left all well at home. 

Standing on the pavement outside, Lexley seemed to 
realise for the first time the material difficulties of his 
task. 

An advertisement in the Times , the Daily Telegraphy all 
the newspapers in general circulation, so worded that, while 
impossible to misapprehend for those interested, it lifted no 
corner of that sacred veil in which every Englishman loves 
to shroud his domestic affairs, seemed the first step ; but 
when he remembered how seldom Laura cared to look at a 

270 


WANTED— A WIFE 


271 


newspaper, how improbable it was that she would take one 
in for her own perusal, and how, in the state of seclusion 
she had doubtlessly adopted, nobody else was likely to 
impart to her the news of the day, this was much too 
feeble a thread on which to hang his hopes. He thought 
of our police arrangements, our detective system, the 
researches of our Inspector Buckets, and the organisation 
of Scotland Yard. Finally he elected to confide his case to 
a “ private enquiry office,” and wait, with exceeding 
impatience, for the result. 

He lost no time therefore in proceeding to one of these 
resorts for the intriguing, the inquisitive, and the perplexed. 
It is not too much to say that he felt a little disappointed at 
the total absence of mystery with which he was ushered into 
a room like a lawyer’s office, and accosted by a stout, good- 
humoured personage, who bowed, smiled, and rubbed his 
hands, more like a dentist with designs on his double teeth, 
than a power to whose keeping were intrusted the honour 
of great houses, the happiness of noble families, the hopes, 
fears, embarrassments, entanglements, and peccadilloes of 
society in general. 

“Cold seasonable weather,” said the grand inquisitor, 
stirring his fire cheerfully. “Must expect it at this time 
of year. Comes all the same whether we expect it or not. 
And what can we do for you, sir ? No hurry ? My time 
is yours. If you will state your case, I’ll take down any- 
thing that strikes me. Don’t agitate yourself. Nothing 
to make you nervous. It’s our business, you know, and we 
do it every day.” 

“ I’m not agitated and I’m not nervous,” protested Lexley 
with some vehemence. “I wish to trace a person I have 
lost sight of for some months, whose welfare is very dear 
to me, and who, I have reason to believe, is at this moment 
concealed somewhere in London.” 

“ Very good, sir. Very good,” observed the other, 
opening his note-hook. “Person male or female?” 

“Female of course!” replied the clergyman, and the 
grand inquisitor smiled. 

“ Excuse me, sir,” he continued after a pause, composing 
his features to a judicial austerity. “ It is my duty to ask 
you, whether the carrying out of your inquiries would in 


272 


UNCLE JOHN 


any way conduce to the subversion of good morals and 
propriety ? ” 

Lexley lost patience. Had he taken only deacon’s orders, 
I think he would have sworn outright. 4 4 Gracious heavens ! ’ ’ 
he exclaimed. 44 Good morals ! Propriety! Why, man, 
it’s my wife ! ” 

Was she his wife? A cold hand seemed to close 
about his heart while he reflected that their marriage, 
however binding in the sight of heaven, had been illegal 
on earth ; but he repeated in a fainter voice, 44 It’s my 
wife I’m looking for — my wife that you must help me to 
find.” 

44 Quite so — quite so,” assented the other, as if this were 
indeed their special line of business, and a priest in holy 
orders might be seen at their office every day in the week 
in quest of his missing spouse. 44 Height, if you please, as 
nearly as you can give it. Complexion, colour of eyes 
and hair. General appearance. Thank you. Dress 
not so material. Some months, you say, have elapsed 
since your last interview. Can you oblige me with the 
exact date ? ” 

It was written in blood on the tablets of his heart. No 
wonder he gave it correctly. 44 And she left in consequence 
of some misunderstanding between you ? Such things take 
place every day. I have been told,” added the grand in- 
quisitor, who was obviously a bachelor, 44 that in these cases 
there are generally faults on both sides.” 

44 1 don’t know what you mean by faults,” said Lexley ; 
44 she was a woman without faults, and we never had a 
quarrel in our lives. She was subjected to persecution by 
a man who extorted money from her, and she left her home 
to spare me rather than herself. The man is dead. I am 
sure of it, for I attended his death-bed. He knew no more 
what had become of her than I do. Is it necessary to enter 
into all these particulars ? ” 

To this the grand inquisitor answered, with considerable 
show of reason, that the fuller the confidence reposed in him, 
the more detailed the information he could obtain, the greater 
would be the chance of bringing his inquiries to a successful 
issue. 

44 We may lose the whole thread,” said he, 44 for want of 


WANTED— A WIFE 


273 


certainty on a mere trifle like the colour of a ribbon. The 
most unimportant circumstance, such as the entering of a 
house to procure refreshment, the purchase of a railway- 
ticket, even the payment of a toll at a foot-bridge, may 
furnish us with a clue to guide us from one conclusion to 
another, till we have put piece to piece, like a child’s 
puzzle, and completed our task to the satisfaction of 
everybody concerned. We profess to make * private in- 
quiries in the strictest confidence.’ Our inquiries cannot 
hut be limited in proportion as that confidence is withheld. 
If I might presume to advise, sir, I should say, state the 
case without the slighest reservation. The result becomes 
a mere question of time and expense.” 

Thus adjured, Lexley detailed those circumstances con- 
nected with his wife’s flight and the reasons that led to it, 
with which we are already acquainted. The grand in- 
quisitor listened attentively, took voluminous notes, and 
concluded their interview with the appalling question — 

“ You have no reason to suspect violence? In all cases 
of mysterious disappearance, it would be madness if we shut 
our eyes to the possibility of foul play.” 

Altogether, Algernon Lexley left the private inquiry office 
very much more uneasy in his mind than he went in. 

It would be tedious to follow him through the many 
turns and windings of his wearisome and interminable 
chase. Morning after morning he rose with the conviction 
that the day must produce some new discovery, some 
definite result. Night after night he lay down dispirited, 
despondent, fain to cry with so many other vexed and 
stricken souls, “How long, Lord, how long?” 

But one consideration kept him from despair. It was 
the suggestion made by the grand inquisitor. He would 
not, he dared not, dwell upon the chance of violence ; and 
it seemed that to lose hope, ever so little, was to give tacit 
adherence to this ghastly supposition. 

After a time he resolved to remain in London, and 
thought himself fortunate in exchanging his country curacy 
for one in the crowded neighbourhood of Smithfield ; only 
temporarily, however, for vague and improbable as seemed 
its realisation, the dream of his life was still to instal Laura 
once again as mistress of her old home. 


274 


UNCLE JOHN 


But hope deferred was making the heart very sick. The 
zealous minister of the gospel who threaded those narrow 
Smithfield alleys, looked almost as gaunt and wasted as 
he who had walked the country doing good from Oakley 
Hamlet to Middleton Lordship. There was, nevertheless, 
this difference. The grim expression of effort had passed 
from his face. It showed weariness now, even anxiety, 
but was no longer warped with the contraction of a per- 
sistent and unremitting struggle. He could look forward 
at least to the possibility of happiness. Alas ! that it 
seemed so wavering, so uncertain, and so far away ! 

The new parson worked hard amongst his flock, in which, 
though exceedingly numerous, the black sheep seemed out 
of all proportion, both for numbers and blackness. To 
these he paid particular attention ; and it is possible that 
his ministrations were none the less successful because of 
a nature that could appreciate physical temptation to evil, 
because of a human heart that in stress of human sorrow 
had once nearly fallen away to a godless despair. 

It is not everybody who can understand the exquisite 
pleasure of beer to a strong, healthy, hard-working frame, 
exhausted by continuous labour, or the tempting excite- 
ment produced by intoxication on a brain that finds no 
music, no painting, no poetry, to satisfy its desires, and 
in its sober moments knows of no mental stimulant more 
exciting than to calculate the price of coals or read the 
advertisements in a penny paper. 

It is little wonder that an ignorant, unlettered, un- 
cultivated man gets drunk, or that when drunk he gets 
into mischief. No repressive legislation can do much to 
remedy the evil ; but I cannot help thinking the school- 
master is a deadly foe to John Barleycorn ; and I do not 
see, when he has received a good education, lives in a 
comfortable home, has opportunities for intellectual 
recreation and social intercourse with friends of his own 
class, that the labourer is one bit more inclined to inebriety 
than the gentleman who employs him. 

We are apt to forget the temptations of the public-house 
— the light, the warmth, the fiddle, and the friends — as 
contrasted with an untidy home, in which children perhaps 
are ailing and the wife may be a shrew. The man goes in 


WANTED — A WIFE 


275 


to light his pipe and partake of that half-pint which in such 
society would seem to he a bottomless measure unfathomable 
as mid-ocean. Once in, it is natural that he should find 
some difficulty in getting out. The landlord greets him 
with warmth, the pot-boy serves him with deference, the 
barmaid, if there is one, wears for him her bluest ribbons 
and her brightest smiles. Bill shoves the tempting pewter 
with its white frothing head under his very nose ; honest 
Jim, with whom he had “ a few words ” on Monday, 
insists on his sharing the draught that is to drown all 
unkindness. One slaps him heartily on the back, another 
nods kindly over his quart pot ; with every man round he 
has a community of interests, ideas, pleasures, above all, 
of cares ; and I will ask any gentleman, whose hospitable 
face brightens while he rings the bell for that “ other ” 
bottle of claret we should all be better without, if he can 
be surprised that under such conditions half a pint goes so 
short a way. 

Now Lexley could understand the w T orking-man’s habits, 
his toils, his amusements, his pleasures, and his temptations; 
could speak to him, as it were, in his own language, and 
though he assumed no superiority of nature in virtue of his 
office, never shrank from administering deserved reproof. 
He treated his parishioners as equals, with the manly 
courtesy that wins favour from all classes. They respected 
his firmness, his courage, his unbending persistency, in the 
course he thought right, and the clergyman’s tall form soon 
came to be welcome in many a squalid lodging, where the 
inmates had heretofore been left in ignorance of any truths 
more important than those which affected the earning of 
their daily bread. 

Like all men who have habituated themselves to real 
work, he possessed the gift of method, without which time 
is wasted and energy thrown away. He adopted a system 
in his daily rounds that left no part of his parish unvisited, 
and might have been compared to a careful gardener, who 
detects and removes the weeds from his flower-beds day by 
day as they appear. There was much to do and he did it 
with all his might. 

But notwithstanding his unflagging zeal, his indomitable 
perseverance, the old wound was still unstanched, the aching 


276 


UNCLE JOHN 


void remained. Though he laboured hard in the vineyard, 
and never neglected one tittle of his duty towards his flock, 
he relaxed not for an instant in his search, hoping against 
hope, believing even when belief seemed to have become 
absurdity. How often in the crowded streets had his heart 
leapt wildly up to greet some distant figure that it would 
fain recognise for Laura ! how often, when the figure drew 
near, and the illusion was dispelled, had it sunk into hopeless 
apathy, to be aroused again, credulous as ever, on the very 
next occasion. Even the * ‘ roughs ’ ’ among whom his labours 
lay, did not fail to remark that the “ long parson,” as they 
called him, was subject to sudden fits of abstraction when 
any female figure above the average height drew near, and 
made their own comments, less respectful than humorous, 
on this peculiarity. 

There was a mystery about their ghostly adviser which 
they did not care to solve, making little account of mysteries 
in the daily struggle for life, and having indeed another 
puzzle if they chose to trouble themselves about it, in the 
person of a lady visitor who took exceeding pains with their 
wives, their morals, and their children, going about on foot 
at all hours and in all places, with the sole object, as it 
seemed, of doing good. 

“I’ll never believe but what angels is turned out on 
the pattern of she,” declared a burly costermonger whose 
society Lexley much affected, in the hope of weaning him 
from a strongly-developed tendency to inebriety. “Painted 
different colours, may be ; some on ’em with wings and 
some without, in course, but as like as one periwinkle is to 
another. Why, look here, master ! T’other night, when 
I come in on her up at my place nursing Mrs. Golder’s 
babby wot died, blowed if I didn’t think as her very back 
must itch where the feathers was a-growing. I tell ye I 
wouldn’t have been surprised a morsel not to have seen her 
fly right off, babby and all, the shortest way to heaven, or 
wherever her sisters are waiting to take her in.” 

The costermonger — a gentleman in knee-breeches, by 
name Franks — was perhaps not strictly sober while indulg- 
ing these flights of fancy ; but he succeeded in exciting 
his listener’s curiosity, and Lexley could not but desire 
further particulars regarding this celestial being, whose 


WANTED— A WIFE 


277 


wings were already supposed to be sprouting here on 
earth. 

It was early in the winter’s evening, and the gasman 
had not yet completed his rounds. As light after light was 
called into existence by this functionary, Mr. Franks looked 
on with approval. Presently he turned to the clergyman 
and thus delivered himself : — 

“ I knows no more of her, master — not of her natur’, you 
understand — than I knows of that theer light. I can’t tell 
ye, not for certain, where it comes from when they turns it 
on, nor where it goes to when they turns it off. I can’t 
tell ye whether it ain’t the same breed as them stars up 
yonder by the house-tops. Similarly, I can’t believe but 
what she comes of the same sort as them angels I seen in 
picture-books, as I heard once singing beautiful in the 
hospital that time when I fell off old Simpkins’s van on my 
jolly head.” 

“What is she like?” asked the clergyman eagerly, 
while his foolish heart beat fast with the wild hope that a 
thousand disappointments had not been able to destroy. 
“ A tall, pale woman, isn’t she, with long brown 
hair ? ” 

Franks was didactic, as well as drunk. 

“ In my opinion,” said he, “ there’s angels of different 
colours, just like birds, you know. Why not ? This here 
fowl has got eyes as black as sloes, and beautiful dark hair 
as soft as silk. She isn’t tall, master, and she isn’t short ; 
she is exactly the right size, you’d think as she was made 
a purpose ! And she smiles so sweet, it’s like bringing a 
candle into the room. We’re rough chaps, some of us, 
down here, as you know, master, but when our lady passes, 
I’ve not seen the man yet as would make bold to keep his 
hat on and look straight into her face. I should like to see 
that man. I’d precious soon knock his hat off for him, and 
his jolly head along of it. But bless ye, she can’t a-bear 
to hear of anythink like fighting, or such games. ‘Love 
one another,’ says she to the very children playing in the 
dirt. There ! I tell ye, if she was only to lift her little 
finger I’d lay down to be stamped to pieces in that there 
gutter and welcome ; strike me dead if I wouldn’t ! And 
not me only, but hundreds and hundreds of chaps round 


278 


UNCLE JOHN 


here and down water-side, that’s rougher and worser nor 
me, though I’m bad enough, Lord knows ! ” 

“ Why don’t you try to get better, then ? ” said Lexley. 
“It’s no excuse for turning out a bad piece of work that 
you knew you were messing it all the time. Why don’t 
you begin at once ? Drink a pint instead of a quart ; leave 
off cursing for want of something to say. Go down on your 
knees to-night before you lie on your back. Have a clean 
shirt and a clean shave, and come to church next Sunday. 
I’ll preach you a sermon, not too long, and walk home with 
you afterwards if you like.” 

“ So I will ! ” exclaimed the costermonger. “ So help 
me Bob, I will, if it’s only to please our lady. ‘ Franks,’ 
says she yesterday morning, * why don’t I never see you at 
church ? ’ ‘ Lady,’ says I, ‘ I ain’t good enough.’ 4 Why 
don’t ye try and get better, then ? ’ says she, just like you 
said, master. I know she means what’s right, and I think 
you do. I don’t see why I’m not to be better, same as my 
neighbours. And about that theer pint, master ; it’s a 
mean, shabby measure, is a pint, and Parliament ought to 
put it down, says I ; but if you think a man gets twice as 
good for drinking half as much beer, why I’ll see if I can 
cut off my tap a bit and take it out in ’baccy. In that there 
ship as she told us about, and wanted me to sail in for 
foreign parts, there wasn’t to be no liquor allowed of no 
kind. Nothing to drink, master, not for seven, may be 
eight, weeks. It’s enough to choke a man only to think 
of it ! ” 

“Was that why you didn’t go ? ” asked the clergyman. 

Franks laughed huskily and winked. 

“I’d have gone to the ends of the ’arth,” he replied, 
“ and so would all of us, if only she’d have come too, and 
been made our queen. We offered to sail, three hundred 
stout chaps, as could do a day’s work and fight * rough-and- 
tumble ’ with any three hundred as ever stepped to that 
theer place she told us of beyond the seas, if so be as only 
she would come along to share the land, and make the 
laws, and rule over us, right or wrong. But, ‘ No,’ says 
she, 4 my kind and noble hearts,’ says she, ‘ my duty lies 
here, and I sticks by my duty,’ says she; ‘and that’s all 
about it.’ Well, I wasn’t a-going to ship myself aboard of 


WANTED — A WIFE 


279 


a ship with nothing to drink, and leave our lady behind ; so 
I staged at home, I did ; and that’s the way, master, as I 
come for to know you ! ” 

“I’m hut a new friend,” said Lexley. “ Your lady, as 
you call her, has been with you, I suppose, a considerable 
time ? ” 

“ Better nor four months,” answered the costermonger. 
“Four months last Toosday she dropped on to us, like a 
blossom drops off a apple-tree. Tom Squales’ little wench 
was took with cramps, and the mother down with fever, and 
Tom hisself in trouble, no matter why. My mate he was, 
and I’ll take my oath he never took it, hut the beak guv 
him six months ; when our lady comes softly into their 
place. ‘ I’m sorry for you,’ says she, ‘ but that’s not good 
enough. I’m come to lend you a hand,’ says she, 1 if you’ll 
only give me leave.’ With that she takes the poor little 
child on her knee, and gives it doctor’s stuff to cure the 
cramps, and she nurses Poll Squales through the fever, and 
she writes to the governor or somebody, and gets news of 
poor Tom in quod. I tell ye, master, the whole lot would 
have asked no better than to go down and kiss her feet. 
Since then, there’s not a day hut she’s amongst us, up and 
down, backward and forward, with her little basket and her 
clever hands and her soft eyes, that makes a chap feel 
dashed as he hasn’t got his Sunday clothes on, and her 
sweet smile that’s like sunshine on the water when you 
catch a blink of the river out of Thames Street. Holy 
Moses ! There she is ! ” 

The rough strong fellow’s hand shook with emotion while 
he griped the clergyman’s arm to arrest his attention. Ten 
paces off, advancing towards them in the full light of the 
gas-lamps, walked a well-remembered figure that had once 
caused Lexley’s heart to tingle with a feeling he mistook 
for love. As it drew nearer, a well-remembered voice 
accosted his companion. “ The wife is better, Franks,” it 
said cheerfully. “ I’ve just left her. You’re late to-night.” 
And then the speaker stopped short and gazed in the clergy- 
man’s face, while in tones of unconcealed surprise that 
seemed the echoes of each other, the two exclaimed 
simultaneously, “ Miss Dennison ! ” “ Mr. Lexley ! ” 


CHAPTER XXIV 


MIXED MOTIVES 

To explain this unexpected meeting in the narrow street 
near Smithfield, we must go back several weeks to the close 
of the preceding summer, and detail a conversation with 
her friend Mrs. Pike, in which Annie thought well to pro- 
claim her sentiments on things in general, and express her 
intentions for the future. 

These two ladies were sitting in the boudoir of the 
former, an exceedingly pretty and cheerful apartment, with 
glass doors opening on a garden, in which dogs were 
running about, children playing, and green leaves fluttering, 
as if South Kensington were forty miles from Temple Bar, 
instead of four; there was plenty of sunshine, there was 
a fresh breeze, there was a German band in the street, a 
piping bullfinch in the window, a pug snored on the hearth- 
rug, and the baby had just been sent upstairs. Everything 
denoted peace, joy, and contentment — everything was 
happy and cheerful except Miss Dennison’s face. 

That young lady could no more look, than she could feel, 
ill-tempered, hut her cheek was pale, and the soft dark eyes 
seemed recently to have been wet with tears. 

Mrs. Pike in a morning costume of spotless muslins and 
flounces and trimmings, adapted with no little ingenuity to 
the occasional exigencies of a matron’s figure, was fresher, 
brighter, prettier than ever, and, to use her maid’s 
expression, looked “ as clean as a new pin.” She had 
made tea, attended prayers, scolded the General, ordered 
dinner, verified her visiting-book, played with baby till he 
succumbed to hiccough, and performed her morning duties 


MIXED MOTIVES 281 

as usual. The time had come to arrange her programme 
for the day. 

“ The open carriage, Annie* of course,” she observed, 
“ in such weather as this ; what time shall I say ? ” 

“ If you don’t want me, dear, I think I had rather not go 
out,” replied Annie. 

Mrs. Pike opened her eyes, showing a great deal of the 
whites, which were very white indeed. 

“ Not go out ! ” she repeated. “ You’re ill, my dear, I 
know you are. I’ll send for Bolus at once. There will be 
just time to catch him. He always comes home for luncheon. 
I won’t drive to-day, I’ll stay and nurse you. Go and lie 
down this minute.” 

“ But I’m not ill,” protested Annie, “ and if I was, I 
know exactly what Bolus would say, * We want tone, my 
dear young lady ; we want iron, we want building up, not 
pulling down ;’ then he would order me what I hate. Tonics 
and port wine in the middle of the day. The General is quite 
right, the best doctors are those who allow you to get well.” 

“ The General knows nothing about it,” answered his 
wife. “ I promise you when he's ill, I dose him to some 
purpose. But if you won’t let me send for Bolus, why not 
try fresh air and amusement? You’re moped, my dear. 
It’s been a fearfully dull season. You were moped at your 
uncle’s, that was why I carried you off to my own house ; 
and now you’re moped here. I don’t wonder, I’m sure. 
The Perigord’s dinner last night was worse than a funeral. 
Even that boy of theirs couldn’t make it go off, and Lady 
Dundrum’s ball was stupider still. Why didn’t you dance 
oftener, Annie? I saw you send away partner after partner. 
My dear, if you are really bored I shall be wretched. It is 
so bad for people. I’ve been told it might bring on feeble 
action of the heart ! ” 

“ But I’m not bored, Lettie,” answered the other. 
“ You don’t know how I like being here with you and baby. 
I’m not bored, or moped as you call it, the least.” 

“ Then let us go and see the Life-Guards play Polo.” 

Annie shook her head. 

“The Botanical Gardens? The Horticultural? The 
Academy ? Is there nothing that would amuse you ? I 
have it ! We’ll take Poppy and Trix to the Zoo ! ” 


282 


UNCLE JOHN 


“Poppy’s got a cold,” answered Miss Dennison, “and 
Trix is too little. It’s not good for her to be so frightened 
as she was last time.” 

These young ladies were the Misses Pike. “ Poppy,” 
whose real name was Cecilia, being four and half ; her 
sister Beatrice, barely three. The latter heroine, having 
faced undauntedly both bears and lions, and divided her 
young affections between the ugliest monkey and the Keeper 
of the Great Seal, had given away unexpectedly in presence 
of the zebra, a quadruped that seemed to excite in her 
emotions of the utmost terror and aversion. 

Mrs. Pike laughed. “ Poor Trix,” she said. “ Nurse 
tells me she has dreamt of the beasts ever since, and 
nothing will induce her to play with her Noah’s Ark. 
You’re right, Annie. We will put off the Zoo till the 
children are older. However, I’m quite sure of one thing. 
Going about don’t amuse you as it used. My dear — I 
wonder — I wonder whether ” 

“ Whether what ? ” replied Annie, sharply for her . 

“You won’t be angry dear,” said her friend, “ and you 
needn’t tell me more than you choose ; but I haven’t seen 
Mr. Mortimer anywhere since you danced with him so often 
the night of my ball.” 

Annie blushed. “What do you mean , Lettie?” she 
asked. “ Speak out. I couldn’t be angry with you.” 

“ I mean, dear, whether you don’t find it rather dull 
without him,” hazarded Mrs. Pike, trying the ice, as it 
were, before she went too far. “ You had got used to him, 
you know; he was never out of your pocket, it’s quite 
natural you should miss him now. And Annie dear, don’t 
you think — don’t you think you were beginning to like him 
just ever such a little ? ” 

Annie’s colour deepened, but with the flush of denial, 
not acknowledgment, of pride rather than affection. 

“ Dear Lettie ! ” she exclaimed reproachfully, “I should 
have thought you knew me better.” 

“ Girls never confess,” continued the young matron. 
“ But nobody can be so fond of you as I am, Annie, and 
you ought to tell me the truth.” 

“ So I will,” said the other, “ though as a general rule 
I don’t think it at all fair to make such disclosures. But I 


MIXED MOTIVES 


283 


know I am safe with you, dear, and that it will go no further, 

Mr. Mortimer did — did ” 

“Propose to you!” exclaimed Mrs. Pike, jumping up 
and clapping her hands. “ Darling Annie, I give you joy. 
You sly thing, why didn’t you tell me at once ? ” 

“I only said he proposed to me,” replied Miss Dennison 
in rather a mournful voice. “ I didn’t say I accepted him. 
There are two very short words, either of which answers 
such a question once for all. I chose the shortest.” 

Mrs. Pike’s face fell, and she sat down again. “ Annie, 
Annie,” she expostulated, “you can’t mean you said No! ” 
“ I said No, and I meant No,” answered Miss Dennison 
with considerable firmness. “ Now, Lettie, you’ll believe 
if I want to stop at home to-day, it’s not because I expect 
Mr. Mortimer to call.” 

But Lettie was following out the thread of her own 
reflections half aloud. Well-born, well-dressed, good- 
temper, good-fortune, charming manners, and good-looking; 
yes, certainly good-looking, for an eldest son. Annie, 
Annie, I see it all. There is somebody else you like 
better ! ” 

“ There isn’t ! ” protested Annie with a vehemence that 
considerably weakened the denial. “ You’ve no right to 
say that, Lettie, even if it was true, which it’s not .” 

Mrs. Pike shook her head gravely. “ Then, my dear, I 
come back to the old story, and it’s a case for Bolus ! 
There’s something wrong somewhere. You’re pale, you’re 
out of spirits ; you’re not like yourself. And, darling, I’ve 
thought two or three times lately you looked as if you had 
been crying. Annie, what is it ? I wish I could do some- 
thing to help you.” 

“ You’re quite right, dear,” answered Miss Dennison, 
taking her friend’s hand and kissing it. “ I’m not happy ; 
I’m not satisfied. There’s something wrong, and nobody 
can help me but myself. Lettie dear, don’t you often wonder 
what we are all put here for ? ” 

“ Good gracious, no ! ” answered Mrs. Pike, who was 
quite satisfied with the world as she found it, believing, not 
unreasonably, that to make the comfort of her home, her 
General, and her servants, to settle with her tradespeople, 
amuse her baby, romp with Poppy and Trix, teach them 


284 


UNCLE JOHN 


their alphabet, and prepare them for the catechism, was 
the sum of her duties, and enough too for any one woman 
to undertake. “I never trouble my head about that kind 
of thing. We must be put somewhere , I suppose. And 
why not here ? ” 

Ignoring a question that, although simple in itself, 
opened up a whole labyrinth of metaphysical subtleties and 
speculations, Miss Dennison, like a thorough woman, took 
refuge from argument in declamation. 

“Oh, Lettie! ” she exclaimed, “I feel so frivolous, so 
useless, so unnecessary. It seems as if I had no established 
place in the world, and it wouldn’t make the slightest 
difference to anybody, except you and baby perhaps, if 
there was no me, I am exactly like a lost dog in a market, 
or a stray sheep in a lane. I’ve puzzled and puzzled over 
it times without end, but it’s no use. Uncle John says 
woman’s right is to be good-looking, her privilege to he 
well-dressed, and her duty to be sweet-tempered. Dear old 
thing ! he declares I am all these, and no more is to be 
expected of me, hut something here, in my heart, tells me 
he’s wrong. I have energies and I’m certain I ought to 
use them. I cannot admit that a head is only intended for 
one’s maid to arrange, and a pair of hands for one’s gloves 
to fit tight. There must he work for a woman to do, if she 
can only find it out. Why mayn’t I take my share with 
the others ? ” 

“What others?” asked Mrs. Pike, bewildered by her 
friend’s eloquence. “Why can’t you be like the girls we 
see every day ? Only nicer, of course.” 

“Because I can’t! ” said Annie, rising from her chair, 
and pacing through the room. “ You might as well ask a 
bird why it wants to fly, or a cat why it catches mice. It’s 
my nature, I suppose, and I can’t help it any more than 
my unhappy sex. Why wasn’t I born a man ? Every man 
has his place in the world and knows it ! ” 

“lam not sure of that,” observed Mrs. Pike, reflecting 
on various instances of male audacity that she had been 
obliged to set down. “But having come into the world 
as a female infant, having been christened Annie, and 
presented at a drawing-room, it seems rather late in the 
day to make a change that’s all.” 


MIXED MOTIVES 


285 


“ I’m not talking of change,” replied Annie. “ I’m 
quite serious. I intend to give up halls, drums, dinners — 
particularly dinners — garden parties, private theatricals, 
operas, French plays, everything that seems a selfish waste 
of time and money. I shall get no more new dresses this 
season, and only one bonnet. If you and the General don’t 
object, dear, I shall ask the Vicar to let me take a class in 
his Sunday-school. This is at least a step in the right 
direction.” 

The Vicar was over seventy, and as ugly as he was good. 
Mrs. Pike could not see her way. 

“ By degrees,” continued Miss Dennison, warming with 
the subject, “ I shall hope to enlarge the circle of my 
usefulness, I shall get more acquainted with the wants of a 
London parish, learn how I can best become a comfort to 
my poorer neighbours. If there are blind people I shall 
read to them, sick and sorrowful I shall give them what 
little comfort I can. Perhaps before long I shall be allowed 
to visit the patients in the hospitals ! ” 

“ Think of the smells ! ” said Mrs. Pike. 

Annie curled up her pretty little nose. 

“I have thought of them, dear,” she answered. “ That’s 
where I shall break down, I know. It’s what I’m most 
afraid of. But if I can get over this weakness and prejudice 
— I’m sure it’s only prejudice — think how useful I may be. 
Can’t you fancy a poor fellow brought into the Accident 
Ward ; a bricklayer, for instance, who has fallen off a 
scaffolding, with half-a-dozen bones broken. When the 
pain lulls a little, and the doctors are gone to attend some 
one else, how slowly the hours must drag, how wearisome 
he must find the whitewashed walls, the bare floor, the 
noiseless steps of the nurses moving up and down ! Think 
how he must welcome a woman, a real lady like any of us, 
who, from sheer sympathy, comes to cheer him up and ask 
him how he is. Why, he would get well in half the time. 
I dare say that was the way Miss Nightingale began, and I 
respect her more than any woman I ever heard of. Don’t 
you remember the wounded soldier who kissed her shadow 
on his pillow as she passed by. Lettie, I think that is the 
most touching story I ever heard.” 

Mrs. Pike, though of opinion that it was better to have 


286 


UNCLE JOHN 


somebody one liked to kiss the substance rather than the 
shadow, could not but acknowledge the nobility of Miss 
Nightingale’s example, while refusing to admit any necessity 
for Annie to follow it. There are plenty of people without 
you, dear,” she argued, “ who would do it much better. 
You know trained nurses always declare that amateurs are 
worse than useless.” 

“But everbody must begin by being an amateur,” argued 
Miss Dennison. “People are not born sick-nurses, with 
white aprons and smart ribbons in their caps. I don’t 
think I shall wear a cap, Lettie, but I shall go about in 
black ; it seems more respectful to those who are in pain 
or sorrow.” 

“ And it’s very becoming,” assented Mrs. Pike. “ The 
General likes me best in black ; though I nearly always 
wear white.” 

“I am not the least afraid of undertaking it,” continued 
Annie, passing over the question of costume. “ I was 
reading about it in a book the other day. The man says 
one’s whole mind should be engrossed by the profession, 
and one should care very little for anything else. That’s 
exactly my case. I care so very little for anything else ! ” 

Now the meaning of all this was a good deal of dis- 
appointment, a good deal of affection, and some pique, 
acting on a high spirit, a generous and unselfish heart. It 
is but justice to Percy Mortimer to say that with his many 
amiable qualities, backed by his advantages of person and 
fortune, he would hardly have found himself rejected by 
Annie Dennison had not her affections been engaged else- 
where. They were engaged, and he was rejected, Miss 
Annie going to bed after her friend’s ball with a proud con- 
sciousness that at some sacrifice of ambition she had been 
true to her own heart. 

We blame the woman who makes what we choose to call 
a mercenary marriage ; the most energetic amongst us even 
denounce and revile her as though she were no better than 
those who dispense with the ceremony altogether ; but, as 
usual, when we judge hastily our verdict is unsound. There 
are a thousand exigences to which, from his sex, a man is 
superior, that urge the female nature, in defiance of its 
own impulses, to take the first shelter offered. He requires 


MIXED MOTIVES 


287 


no adviser when he disputes a tradesman’s bill, no protector 
when he walk across Piccadilly through the carriages, or 
stares about at the illuminations on the Queen’s birthday. 
She is so trammelled by conventionalities that she hardly 
likes to he seen alone in a hansom cab. In nine cases 
out of ten a woman gains her liberty by marriage ; whether 
a man loses his depends on his own tact and temper no less 
than his wife’s, but she is wise who guides her husband, as 
she should her horse, with a loose rein and a light hand, 
that if he is at all inclined to he hasty or irritable, as much 
as possible lets his head alone. 

I am not speaking now of the irresistible pressure that 
can be put on a girl by circumstances, friends, and relations, 
compelling her to marry against her will. Had it not been 
that “ father brak’ his arm, and our cow was stown awa’ ” 
— the Scottish lassie would never have yielded up her own 
happiness, from the very tenderness of her heart that 
caused her such agonies of remorse when her sea-going 
“ Jamie ” returned too late. A woman dearly loves a 
sacrifice. She is always ready to immolate herself freely, 
and on occasion, rather than come empty-handed to the 
altar, will even offer up the man she loves. 

But Annie Dennison, thinking Mr. Maxwell the best 
waltzer, the most agreeable companion, the handsomest, 
the cleverest, the bravest, to sum up all in one word, the 
nicest of men, having in short suffered his image consider- 
ably idealised to enter a citadel where it carefully locked 
itself in, showed both firmness and wisdom in declining the 
advances of his friend. Neither of these qualities did she 
exercise, however, in her subsequent treatment of the man 
whom she would not quite confess she loved. Because he 
looked wretched she despatched him, as we have seen, to 
take care of young Perigord in the supper-room. Because 
he expressed himself thereupon with a certain half-abject, 
half-bitter devotion, she refrained from wishing him good- 
night. 

When he next met her, and accosted her with all the 
exultation, created by Percy Mortimer’s own confessions at 
daybreak, she had become so high and mighty that poor 
Horace was once more reduced to depths of despair, and 
finally after a fortnight of anger and heart-burnings on one 


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UNCLE JOHN 


side, of wounded pride and secret tears on the other, of 
constrained sentences and affected indifference on both, the 
gentleman so completely lost his temper, that he applied 
for an appointment, necessitating his immediate departure 
to Vienna, and the lady, assuring herself, though she did 
not believe it, that he was in some entanglement with the 
former Miss Blair, determined henceforth to lavish on her 
diseased fellow- creatures the affections to which this 
paragon of the Foreign Office seemed no longer entitled. 

As both must have been satisfied on reflection that he 
would return during the winter, they deserved some credit for 
being so heart-broken by a separation which was purely 
voluntary, and not likely to be of long continuance at the 
worst. 

So Annie remained in London with Mrs. Pike, who was 
unwilling for domestic reasons to leave a home before which 
it seemed probable that straw must be laid down during 
some period of the autumn. The unmarried lady, while 
proving a great comfort to her friend, in the trying 
situation women bear so heroically, by no means abandoned 
her resolution of ministering to the poor. She was active, 
she was quiet, she was blessed with vigorous health, when 
she took plenty of exercise ; she had a kind heart, she had 
a sweet voice, above all she was thoroughly in earnest, and 
by the time she met Lexley under the gas-lamps, she had 
been some months a daily visitor through a parish hitherto 
considered the most abandoned in London, and had earned 
for herself a character amongst its rough beer- drinking 
population, of which Mr. Franks, the costermonger, in his 
wildest flights of fancy, considered himself but a feeble 
exponent. 

In the contemplation of poor men’s sorrows, her own 
seemed trifling by contrast ; in the daily effort to alleviate 
them, her self-reproaches vanished, her spirits rose, the 
colour came back to her cheek, the sparkle to her eyes. It 
is not too much to say that “ our lady ” as they called her, 
in her plain black dress, with a basket on her arm, was to 
the rude natures she refined a living type of all that is best 
and purest and loveliest on earth. To have given vent to 
an oath in her presence would have seemed sacrilege. Not 
to obey with alacrity her lightest wish was impossible, and 


MIXED MOTIVES 


289 


the “ navvy,” or the bricklayer, shouldering his tools for 
his morning’s work, enshrined her image in his breast, with 
something of the exalted and ennobling devotion paid by a 
knight of the middle ages to our Lady of Succour, when, 
laying lance in rest, he invoked her gracious help and 
favour at his need. 

No wonder Annie Dennison’s step was so airy, her 
glance so bright, her hearing so assured, in the innocent 
enjoyment of authority, the confidence of her own capability 
to do good. 

“ You look like a queen,” said Lexley, as they shook 
hands, while Mr. Franks, self-restricted to a pint, went his 
way to fetch it at the nearest public-house. 

“ So I am a queen,” she answered gaily, “ a queen with 
loyal and true subjects who worship the very ground I tread 
on, without an enemy in the world, and only two difficulties 
in my government. Oh ! Mr. Lexley, if it wasn’t for beer 
and the children staying away from school, I should be the 
happiest woman on earth. But tell me about yourself. 
How came you here ? ” 

“ I should have asked the same question had I not met 
Franks,” he answered, and thereupon embarked in a 
narrative of his doings, not unlike her own, refraining how- 
ever from all mention of his wife, and referring his exchange 
of duties with the Smithfield curate to a sense of responsi- 
bility, a liking for work, a conviction that ministers of the 
gospel could not enlarge too much the circle of their 
experience, alleging every motive in short but the restless- 
ness of an aching heart. 

She too, in comparing notes, breathed not a word of 
inquiry about his friend, scrupulously avoiding all topics that 
might lead to the mention of Horace Maxwell’s name. 
Both ignored that which was nearest and dearest to each. 
People always do. If you dine with a man expressly to 
talk over a particular subject, he never makes the slightest 
allusion to it till you are going away. 

But Lexley gathered that the young lady had found 
many difficulties to contend with in her own family, before 
she could enter on her career of philanthropy and self- 
sacrifice. Aunt Emily, who “didn’t see the least 
necessity for anything of the kind,” declared the whole 


290 


UNCLE JOHN 


scheme “ unlady-like,” “ vulgar,” and when pressed on the 
subject, “ absolutely wicked ! ” Uncle John, though 
appreciating the sentiment and approving of the motive, 
was in favour of “waiting a little; he never thought it 
wise to do anything in a hurry.” Other relatives followed 
suit. But for Pike’s loyal adherence, Annie really believed 
she must have given way. Her General, however, who as 
Mrs. Pike observed, “thought Annie could do no wrong,” 
took up arms at once. “ I see her making the comfort and 
the happiness of every place she enters,” said the veteran 
speaking very fast, and in a tone that the boldest dissent 
would scarcely dare oppose. “If I go into the nursery I 
find Poppy and Trix ready to eat her up. The baby, a 
determined young scoundrel, who is insubordinate with 
everybody else in the house, breaks into smiles and good 
humour. Even cross old nurse, of whom I honestly own I 
am afraid, smooths her apron and looks pleased. If I visit 
my wife’s sick room, a faint voice whispers, * Is that you, 
Annie ? ’ before she finds out that it’s only me. Not a 
servant upstairs or down but would fetch her water from — 
well — from a long way beyond Halifax if she wanted it. 
And as for myself, why to see Annie about, is like having 
fresh-cut flowers every day on the table in one’s barrack- 
room ! But I’m not such a beast as to want to keep her all 
to ourselves. Because an officer commands his own regiment 
well, is that a reason he is not to be made a Major-general? 
This scheme of doing good comes from her kind heart. 
It’s promotion and active service too. For my part I say, 
good luck to her, and God bless her.” 

So Annie remained a welcome guest in the Pikes’ house, 
and from the basis of South Kensington, carried on her 
philanthropic operations at the east end of London. 


CHAPTER XXV 


A FRIEND IN NEED 

If you drop a stone into a pond, the watery circles thus 
described increase and widen, ring beyond ring, till they 
reach the utmost limits that the banks allow. In the same 
way, an energetic nature bent on doing good, finds its 
range of benevolence extending day by day, till it comprises 
a thousand new objects for which it has hitherto taken no 
thought, and made no provision. Yet in this, as in most 
emergencies of life, with the difficulty grows the power to 
surmount it ; in its very exigences are found the means by 
which the situation is mastered, and turned to good 
account. 

Annie Dennison’s first crusade was against the arch 
enemy who had obtained too firm a footing in the territory 
she was resolved to subdue. Over indulgence in beer was 
a habit difficult to subdue ; one to he modified by degrees 
rather than eradicated with an effort. Tact, temper, mild 
persuasion did much. Ere long the fear of “ our lady’s ” 
saddened shake of the head in sorrow, not in anger, 
prevailed over the opposing influences of ridicule, ostenta- 
tion, good-fellowship, and habitual thirst. A drunken 
man became a rarity ; a riotous one an impossibility. The 
inspector at the nearest police-station expressed astonish- 
ment no less than approval, while he attested to a 
diminished wear-and-tear on the force. The constables, 
with eyes, faces, and limbs no longer bruised by violence in 
this world, and consigned to perdition in the next, blessed 
Miss Dennison from thankful hearts in their nightly vigils 
and their daily rounds. 

When husbands had grown tolerably sober, it was no 

291 


29*2 


UNCLE JOHN 


difficult task to render wives comparatively tidy and clean. 
Here and there, perhaps, a shrew, warped with a lifetime of 
hard work and harder usage, may have protested against 
the influence exercised over her own tyrant by this dainty 
damsel ; but, when she found the wages, heretofore 
squandered at the public-house, beginning to accumulate 
from shillings to pounds, while at the same time there was 
a loaf in the cupboard, a bit of fresh meat on the table, and 
a spoonful of strong black tea in the pot ; when her 
“ master’s ” homecoming ceased to be the signal for “a 
few words,” alas ! too often followed by a good many 
blows ; when she herself could afford a clean gown and a 
bright ribbon for Sunday ; when new shoes for the children 
seemed no longer an impossibility, ridiculous to contemplate 
— even the fiercest of these vixens could not but acknow- 
ledge it was a happy change, and admit that ‘‘Now as 
they’d got use to her, this here Miss might come round and 
welcome. She wasn’t one of your prying sort, she wasn’t, 
and if so be as she was a born lady, no doubt as she was 
’elpful and ’andy and uncommon quick at her needle ! ” 
Having reformed husbands and improved homes, Annie’s 
next step was to educate the children. For this purpose, 
with the assistance of certain charitable acquaintances, she 
rented a room, which she herself saw scrubbed, ventilated, 
and whitewashed ; bought a few elementary hooks, a great 
many slates, with sponges hanging by a string, and engaged 
a schoolmistress, strong in acquirements, authority, and 
testimonials, but alas ! feeble in health. After a few 
weeks’ trial, this valuable acquisition broke down and felt 
obliged to resign. When Lexley met her in the street, 
Annie was on her way to keep an appointment at the 
school-house with an unknown individual who had seen in 
the baker’s window a written announcement that the place 
was vacant, and had requested that tradesman’s interest to 
obtain it. The baker’s account was misty in the extreme. 
He had forgotten the applicant’s name, entertained the 
vaguest notions of her dress and appearance, persisted in 
calling her a female, and seemed to have hut this one lucid 
idea connected with the subject, that she would wait on the 
lady superintendent in the evening at the school, and there- 
fore Miss Dennison took leave of Lexley more hastily than 


A FRIEND IN NEED 


293 


she could have wished, omitting a good many questions 
she would have liked to ask, a good many disclosures it 
would have been a pleasure to communicate. 

The school-house was a gloomy apartment enough when 
illuminated by one tallow candle. Annie, blinking in from 
the brighter gas-light outside, could only make out a tall, 
dark figure, closely veiled, that rose respectfully on her 
entrance. Miss Dennison’s courtesy was always capti- 
vating. “I am so sorry to have kept you waiting,” she 
said kindly, whereat the figure started, clasped its hands, 
and faltering out, “ I beg your pardon, I — I am afraid there 
is some mistake,” sank down on the wooden chair in an 
attitude of utter helplessness and prostration. 

For a second time to-night Annie Dennison seemed 
destined to be surprised. In appearance and hearing, 
however, she formed a striking contrast to the other 
occupant of the apartment. The genial manner froze to 
one of dignified disapproval, the slight frame stiffened 
where it stood. It was as if a touch of some enchanted 
wand had turned a warm-blooded, loving, breathing young 
lady to a figure of ice. 

Yet all the time the girl’s heart beat wildly, joyfully, to 
think that Horace had now been in Vienna for weeks ! 

Nevertheless, only a woman could have conveyed by the 
mere inflection of tone, so much scorn as she put into the 
few words with which she accosted her visitor. 

“Mrs. Lexley ! I beg pardon. Miss Blair. I am not 
aware by which name you ought to be addressed.” 

Only a woman could have understood the whole cruelty 
of the insult, could have interpreted the challenge and the 
taunt. 

Laura rose in proud defiance, lifted her veil, and looked 
full in the other’s face. 

“ Miss Dennison,” said she, “ you are the last person on 
whom I wish to inflict my presence. Excuse me for having 
intruded. I will bid you good evening, and retire at 
once.” 

But Annie had of late seen too much real sorrow, not to 
recognise the accents of an aching heart, however disguised 
in an assumption of haughty unconcern. Her own nature 
too had been necessarily softened by the daily habit of doing 


294 


UNCLE JOHN 


good. It was almost impossible for “ our lady ” to refrain 
from helping a fellow- creature in distress, while frequent 
contemplation of the easy steps by which poor humanity 
descends to vice, the misery in which it becomes entangled, 
and the painful struggles through which alone it can be 
extricated, had impressed on her the beauty of that lesson 
which teaches us to hate the sin, while we sympathise wdth 
the sinner. Annie, who said her prayers with commendable 
regularity, did not find that the most difficult of her duties 
was to forgive others their tresspasses against herself, much 
less then (although as a woman exceedingly intolerant of 
errors into which women are prone to fall), those who had 
trespassed against the laws of society. 

I do not mean to assert that she would have relented 
quite so easily, had there been more reason to suppose that 
Horace Maxwell’s withdrawal of his allegiance was in any 
way connected with Miss Blair, or that she might not have 
felt “the duty she owed to herself,’’ demanded a sterner 
and more uncompromising bearing, but for the pleasing 
reflection, hitherto so bitter, that “Horace had been in 
Vienna for weeks ! ’’ 

“ Don’t go,” she said simply, “sit down — you look tired 
and ill — we used to be friends once. Will you not tell me 
if I can be of any use, any comfort to you now? ” 

Scorn for scorn, the other could have flung back. Proud 
looks, disdainful gestures, she could have met with looks 
and gestures prouder and more disdainful ; she would have 
yielded to no claim, admitted no assumption of superiority, 
would have returned revilings and defied reproof, but the 
kind words, the gentle tones, pierced to her heart like a 
knife. Weary, worn, friendless, exhausted for very want 
of food, the proud spirit gave way with the enfeebled frame. 
Sinking once more into the chair, Laura laid her head on 
the table, and burst into a passion of tears. 

“I am so miserable,” she murmured, — “so miserable — 
I wish I was dead — I wish I was dead ” 

The very words of how many a fallen woman whom lately 
she had soothed and consoled, guiding her, as only a sister 
can, along the upward path that leads again to life and 
hope ! Not for all those words seemed to convey, was there 
a shade less of kindness in Annie’s manner, a tone more of 


A FRIEND IN NEED 


295 


hardness in her voice, while resting her arm on the other’s 
shoulder, and stroking her, as a nurse soothes a child, she 
whispered : 

“Don’t say that, dear; nothing is so had but it might 
be worse. None are so wicked but they can struggle back 
into the ways of virtue if they will only try.” 

Laura raised her head, dried her tears, and opened her eyes 
wide with astonishment. Mistaking wonder for resentment, 
Annie continued in a soft and deprecating tone, “ Nobody 
who has not gone through temptation knows what it is. 
We who have been spared the fiercest of all trials, ought not 
to be proud, only grateful; — I dare say under the same 
conditions, I should have been as bad as — as anybody else. 
Because a woman is degraded, she is not entirely lost. I, 
for one, will never turn my back on those who have humility 
to confess they did wrong, and courage to promise they will 
do right. The first step is gained when we are sorry for 
the past, the next when we have hope in the future. Don’t 
be afraid to confide in me, dear. It will do you good to 
unburden your mind, and a fault confessed, even to a fellow 
mortal, is a fault half-repaired. Tell me your sorrows and 
I will sympathise with them, tell me your sins and I will 
rebuke, not you but them” 

There was no mistaking the kindly pity of the tone, so at 
variance with the inferred accusation of dishonour that a 
woman must indeed have sunken low not to resent. Laura 
looked up partly in vague astonishment, partly in anger, 
soon to be disarmed by the soft sad eyes that met her 
own. 

“Sins! Bebuke!” she repeated. “Miss Dennison, 
why do you think so hardly of me?” 

“Because I have seen Mr. Lexley ! ” answered Annie 
gravely. “ I parted from him not a quarter of a mile from 
here, not a quarter of an hour ago.” 

Laura started to her feet, glancing about like a wild 
creature, seeking some way of escape. “Is he coming? ” 
she asked. “ Miss Dennison, I implore you, don’t let him 
find me ! Don’t tell him where I am. Does he know I 
am here? ” 

“ You need have no fear,” answered Annie, rather coldly. 
“He never mentioned your name. He is leading a noble 


296 


UNCLE JOHN 


life. He has the charge of our parish. Only for a time, I 
am sorry to say. He does his duty thoroughly. He is 
doing it now.” 

“ How did he look? What did he say ? Has he grown 
thin? Did he seem in low spirits ? Was he walking fast 
and strong ? Oh, Miss Dennison ! I have nothing left on 
earth. Don’t grudge telling me something, anything about 
him.” 

The pale face worked convulsively, the grey eyes glared 
as with fierce animal hunger for tidings of the man she loved. 
Laura was standing erect, though trembling in every limb ; 
but there could not have been more of abject supplication 
in her attitude had she dragged herself along the floor, 
grovelling to the other’s feet. 

“He is altered and unhappy,” answered Annie, very 
pitiful, and a little frightened. “You best know how 
much, as you best know why. But he has taken the 
wisest, the surest, the only course to remedy such an 
affliction as his.” 

“Not married again ! ” exclaimed Laura wildly. “ He’s 
not married again. Is she good ? Is she beautiful ? Does 
he love her ? Oh, have mercy on me ! Have mercy, 
Heaven ! I didn’t deserve this ! ” 

“ You couldn’t have cared for him,” said Annie reproach- 
fully. “ There are few such natures on earth. Married 
again ! No. He is not one of those who suffer and forget. 
He bears his sorrow bravely, but he will bear it to his 
grave. How could you undervalue such a character ? How 
could you be false to a man like that ? ” The other seized 
her hand, and pressed it to her own breast. 

“ God bless you ! ” she exclaimed, “ and God forgive me. 
I ought to have rejoiced had it been otherwise, but I could 
not ! I could not ! And you think I don’t care for him ! 
don’t love him ! If you knew — if you only knew ! ” 

“But I don’t” said Annie kindly. “ Will you not tell 
me? What can I think? What ought I to think? I 
know nothing definite. I have heard no particulars. 
You left him, and — and — of course it was for somebody 
else.” 

She blushed violently. Having said thus much, she 
would fain have drawn back. No sooner were the words 


A FBIEND IN NEED 


297 


out than she felt how inconsequent, how uncharitable was 
her conclusion. 

The other only sighed, and for a space looked blankly in 
Miss Dennison’s face. Then she seemed to arrive at some 
definite resolution, and her old manner came hack, the 
natural dignity of her character asserted itself, while she 
made her appeal. It was no fallen woman excusing her 
trespass, no conscious sinner pleading for mercy ; it was 
stately, handsome Miss Blair, of whose calm beauty Annie 
had been a little jealous, that spoke now. 

“ If you loved somebody better than anything on earth, if 
you owed to him all the true happiness you ever knew, if 
you felt that whatever you did, whatever you were, however 
low you had sunk, that person alone would never blame and 
would never forget, — if there was but one way to save him, 
not from sorrow, anxiety, danger, but from shame — shame, 
Miss Dennison, worse than death ! would you scruple to 
take that way, even though it led you into outer darkness, 
into a place of torment hardly to he endured by body or 
soul ? ” 

“ I suppose one would do a great deal for anybody one 
liked,” replied Annie demurely, rather mistrusting this out- 
burst of devotion, lest it might have been called forth by the 
Anybody, or rather the Somebody, of whom she was herself 
thinking. 

“ I have done a great deal for my husband, God knows,” 
continued Laura. “My husband — yes, he is my husband 
in the sight of Heaven, though to claim him here on earth 
would be to bring ridicule on him as a man, disgrace on 
him as a minister of the Church. Miss Dennison, I will 
trust you. I have not a friend in the world ! ” 

“ Trust me ! ”’ answered Annie, whose horizon seemed 
brightening every moment. “ And never say that again! I 
am your friend, dear, from this time forth. I am very 
obstinate if I take anything into my head, and I will never 
desert you, never.” 

Then out came the whole sad story as we know it already, 
and Annie listened with tearful eyes, wondering much, 
pitying much, admiring most of all. The barriers once 
broken down, Laura felt it an intense relief to pour into a 
sympathising ear the narrative of her past life, with its 


298 


UNCLE JOHN 


adventures, its sorrows, and its unhappy climax, confessing 
her faults, acknowledging her imprudences, hut dwelling 
chiefly on those memories which seemed now to constitute 
her all. She touched lightly on the petty triumphs of 
vanity she had won, on the mimicry of mortal strife from 
which she had so often carried off its tinsel prize. Even 
Victor’s dark eyes and early death seemed to have faded 
from her heart, as from her memory the golden skies, the 
sapphire waters, and the purple islands of the Greek Sea. 
But she could not dwell too fondly, nor too minutely, on 
the roses at the parsonage window, the woodbine in its 
porch, the noble figure, and the kind, clear voice that made 
for her, wherever he was, a welcome refuge and a happy 
home. 

“ I like to think of it, dear,” she said, fixing her eyes on 
the solitary tallow candle, now beginning to burn low. “ I 
like to talk of it, I try to dream of it every night of my life, 
because, as you can now understand, I must never see it, 
nor him again ! The only thing that keeps me up is to feel 
that whatever I suffer is for his sake, and perhaps some day 
he will know it, and think all the better of me then for the 
very contempt he must have for me now. Ah ! that is the 
worst of the whole punishment. He must be so un- 
happy ! I wish he could hate and despise me ; I wish he had 
loved me less ! No — I don’t ! Nothing lasts for ever. I 
must wear out in time. Perhaps, dear, when I am worn 
out and laid in my grave, you will tell him. He will see 
then that the woman he trusted, bad or good, right or 
wrong, was not so unworthy after all. If he had married 
some simpering girl, well portioned and well brought up, 
would she have done as much for him ? I think not ! 
There is something of the savage in all of us. I like to 
reflect how I have baffled the villain who persecuted me, 
who would have persecuted him ! I trust in heaven that 
wretch is starving — starving at this moment. I know what 
starving means, and I wish him worse than that. I wish 
him all the evil he deserves ! Yes ; it’s wrong I dare say, 
but think how he has injured me. My girlhood, my woman- 
hood, and then this last deadliest blow of all, ought I to for- 
give ? Would Algy say I ought ? Then I’ll try, dear, I’ll 
try. I’m not so strong as I used to be, and though one 


A FBIEND IN NEED 


299 


fights ever so hard, somehow courage fails when strength 
gives way.” 

“ You will let me help you,” said Annie, drying her eyes. 
“ You will not hid from us again. You have done nothing 
to he ashamed of. On the contrary, you are the truest and 
noblest woman I ever knew.” 

The other shook her head sadly. “ It cannot he,” she 
answered. “I must go into hiding again, or all the past 
agony, the past struggle would he in vain. The appoint- 
ment I came to seek to-night must he given up at once. 
You tell me my — Mr. Lexley is doing duty in this very 
parish. I must escape without losing a moment. You see 
it yourself; there is no alternative.” 

Annie did see it herself, perhaps not without certain 
feelings of relief. Laura was a woman in a million, hut 
alas ! she had a history, very much of a history, and while the 
wife of Caesar should be above suspicion, the mistress of a 
school should be below and out of the way of it. 

“ But you must live,” said the younger lady. “ Do not 
be proud with me. Let me at least have the happiness of 
thinking I can make your hard lot a little less intolerable.” 

“Everybody can live who will work,” answered Laura. 
“ My dear, it is well for me, I must work, or I should go mad ! 
There are plenty of things I can do. I dare say I shouldn’t 
have made at all a good mistress for your school ! I 
taught music for a long time before I went to live with 
Emily Dennison. I have tried to give music-lessons since 
I left my — my home. You would hardy believe how odd 
people are, how unkind, and how suspicious. Why had I 
discontinued the practice of tuition and what had I been 
doing in the interval ? Had I, might I, would, could, 
or should I ever go on the stage ? No references, indeed ! 
It was too much to expect they should entrust the education 
of their children even in the matter of counting one, two, 
three, four, to a person (they didn’t say a lady) of whose 
antecedents they were thus kept in ignorance. Even the 
few, who were tempted by my playing, which was tolerably 
good, and my terms, which were ridiculously low, managed 
to make the whole thing as uncomfortable as possible. 
Some never kept their appointments, some did not pay for 
their lessons, two or three ladies objected to my ‘ manner ’ 


300 


UNCLE JOHN 


— I suppose they were used to something very different — 
and one fat little man actually tried to make love to me ! 
Still, I have managed to keep body and soul together, per- 
haps because I don’t seem to care very much how soon they 
part company. It has only been since this last week I 
have found myself reduced to want. I have lost two pupils 
by scarlet fever, three more are gone into the country for 
good, and I have not one left. That is why I applied for 
the situation here. It’s no use thinking about it now.” 

Annie’s mind was wandering. She reflected on the unfor- 
tunate state of her purse, which usually returned empty 
from her visits amongst her poor. She knew the other’s 
character well enough to he sure they would meet no more, 
and read pretty clearly Laura’s intention of changing her 
residence again and again, if necessary, so as to cut off 
every link with her past life. It vexed her to think how 
powerless she was. “ What can I do ? ” she asked, finger- 
ing a handsome locket at her throat, the only ornament she 
wore — not because it was Aunt Emily’s gift, but that Horace 
Maxwell once found and returned it to her, when it had 
been lost. “I am so sorry for you. I must do some- 
thing.” 

After a lively discussion, during which the tallow candle 
nearly burned itself out, Laura consented to accept from 
Miss Dennison, whose good word as a female philanthropist 
already carried a certain weight, such a letter of recommen- 
dation, made out in an assumed name, as would induce any 
London physician to employ the bearer for a sick nurse, 
that being an occupation to which Mrs. Laxton, as she 
wished to be called, seriously inclined, and her qualifica- 
tions for which Annie, no mean practitioner in the same 
line, was able to judge. 

“ I can live, dear,” said Laura, “ and keep out of every- 
body’s way, that is all I require. Don’t think me ungrate- 
ful, hut you will give me your solemn promise to respect my 
secret, won’t you ? And Miss Dennison, Annie, dear Annie, 
we must never meet again.” 

“ Not even by accident ! ” pleaded Annie, whose soft 
eyes were full of tears. 

“ Not even by accident,” repeated the other, “though, 
indeed, in such a town as this, it would he by the merest 


A FRIEND IN NEED 


801 


accident. Since I came to London I have only met one 
person of my acquaintance, and that was Mr. Maxwell.” 

“ I know it,” said Annie, blushing; “ I ought to have told 
you before. I saw you together.” 

Laura smiled. “It was out first meeting,” said she, 
“ and our last. I took care that it should be, and trusted 
his honour, as I now trust yours.” 

“Then, you don’t know he has gone abroad?” said 
Annie, still with heightened colour. 

“ Abroad ? No ! ” said the other placidly. “ So much 
the better. There are only two people left whom I have to 
avoid.” 

“ Kiss me, dear,” said Miss Dennison, and at that 
moment the tallow candle went out, so the two ladies 
having embraced in the dark, groped their way downstairs 
and into the street, hand-in-hand. 

Then they parted, one returned in a cab to the bright 
warmth and joyous welcome of the house in South Kensing- 
ton, the other slunk stealthily away to her sad, silent, 
squalid home. 

Women’s eyes are very sharp. Mrs. Pike, with a mite of 
humanity swathed in a shawl, resting on her arm, scarcely 
glanced at Miss Dennison running upstairs before she ex- 
claimed, “ Goodness gracious, Annie ! What has become of 
your locket ? ” 

“ I’ve left it somewhere in the City,” answered Annie 
calmly. “ Never mind, dear, I’ll wear the one you gave me 
instead.” 


CHAPTER XXVI 


A FRIEND INDEED 

“Sister Anne, sister Anne, d’ye see any one coming?” 
sang Mrs. Pike in a clear treble, with a mischievous smile. 
“ My dear, I don’t wonder you are fidgety. I can’t conceive 
anything so awkward. It makes me quite nervous to think 
of it.” 

The two ladies were sitting together in the pretty morning 
room. It was an hour after breakfast ; Poppy, Trix, and 
the dethroned baby were off for their morning exercise, the 
latter in a perambulator. His successor, the reigning 
despot, had lately taken sustenance, light, nutritious, but 
only partially digestible, and papa was at Woolwich ; Annie, 
whose charitable engagements allowed her leisure till the 
afternoon, seemed unusually fidgety and nervous ; she could 
not settle to any of her customary occupations and walked 
a dozen times in five minutes to the boudoir window, which 
commanded indeed no more extensive prospect than two 
gas-lamps and a tree. 

Therefore it was that Mrs. Pike expressed playful derision 
in the notes of that long-forgotten opera, which presented 
to our grandfathers the connubial atrocities and condign 
punishment of the uxorious Blue Beard. 

“Let me look at it again,” said the married lady. “I 
can’t make head or tail of it. If, mind Annie, I only say 
if, he does mean to ask for a second chance, won’t you give 
him one? ” 

For answer Miss Dennison tossed a note into her friend’s 
lap ; the latter opened, and read it out for the twentieth 
time — 


A FRIEND INDEED 


303 


“ Dear Miss Dennison, 

“ Can you favour me with an interview on a matter 
of some importance ? I would call any day this week, at 
your own time. I hope you will not refuse to see me, because 
I believe the happiness of two people is involved in the 
communication I have to make. 

“ Yours very sincerely, 

“ Percy Mortimer. 

“ A line to ‘ The Travellers ’ will always find me.” 

“ And what did you say in your line to ‘ The 
Travellers’?” continued Mrs. Pike. 

“ I said yes.” 

“You said yes. My dear, you must have said something 
besides. “You couldn’t put ‘yes’ in an envelope, and 
send it to ‘ The Travellers,’ or any other club in London ! ” 

Annie laughed. 

“ I said very little more. I told him I should he at home 
till one o’clock, it’s five minutes past twelve now.” 

“And, Annie dear,” continued her friend, “have you 
thought the matter over ? Have you made up your mind 
what you will do ? ” 

“ That depends upon the communication! ” replied Miss 
Dennison. “It’s a long word and sounds pompous. Have 
you never observed, Lettie, that when gentlemen are really 
in earnest, they become either pompous or slangy? ” 

“ That’s not my experience,” answered the other, running 
over her own little catalogue of admirers with a triumphant 
smile. “ I used to find them more inclined to hesitate, I 
think, and to get lost. The man too that didn't care for 
one, always made himself so much pleasanter than the man 
that did. However, I am married and done for ; it’s no use 
talking about me. Annie, you see of course what this note 
means.” 

“What?” 

“My dear, nothing can be plainer. Mr. Mortimer is 
really attached to you, and can’t get over it. He has asked 
you once, and you said ‘ No ’ like a goose ! He has given 
you time to reflect, and now he means to try again. What 
is it Pope or Scott, or somebody, says, ‘ one refusal no 
rebuff.’ He’s quite right, and I like him for his pluck.” 


304 


UNCLE JOHN 


“ Oh ! Lettie, do you think so ? I hope not ! ” 

“ I’ve no patience with you, my dear. Isn’t he good 
enough ? ” 

“ Too good, much too good ! ” 

“ Rich enough ? Clever enough ? Nice enough ? ” 

“ Granted, granted, granted.” 

“ And don’t half the girls in London want to marry him? 
My dear, what possible objection can you find?” 

“ Here’s only one. It’s his name.” 

“ Mortimer — Mortimer. What’s the matter with his 

name? ” 

“ It’s pretty, I dare say, and aristocratic. Mrs. Mortimer 
sounds well ; but, Lettie, he’s not Mr. Wright ! ” 

“ Then there is a Mr. Wright ! ” 

“ Oh ! no, no,” replied Annie, blushing furiously, and her 
friend saw well enough she was pleading Percy’s cause in 
vain. A true woman, however, she fired a volley even in 
retreat. 

“ There may he as good fish in the sea, Annie, hut I 
don’t think you will ever catch one to suit you half as well. 
I am the last person to advocate anything hut love-matches ; 
the General always laughs at me for being romantic, hut, at 
the same time, when everything is suitable, and there are 
plenty of means, and no previous attachment exists of 
course, I do think it makes a very little difference to a good- 
looking young couple, whether they fall in love after 
marriage or before.” 

“ But suppose I don’t fall in love with Mr. Mortimer at 
all ! ” urged Miss Dennison. 

“ That’s nonsense ! ” replied her friend. Here he comes. 
Let him speak for himself ! ” 

Between the gas-lamps and the tree, Percy Mortimer’s 
figure was at this moment seen to flit by, mounted on the 
perfect hack so coveted of London equestrians, and followed 
by a groom on a horse that, eager to overtake its stable- 
companion, displayed such form and action as caused all 
passers-by to turn round and admire. 

Nobody could look less like a despondent swain, and 
though, as the upshot proved, he still cared deeply for 
Annie’s welfare, his pulse heat no faster, his colour neither 
went nor came, when his name was announced, and Mrs. 


A FBI END INDEED 


305 


Pike’s footman ushered him ceremoniously into the 
boudoir. 

Annie did blush. She seemed to have caught the trick 
of blushing since last night. Shaking hands with her 
rejected suitor, she could find nothing better to say than 
this : 

“lam glad to see you looking as if you were perfectly 
cured.” 

Mrs. Pike smothered a smile. Her greeting was unusually 
cordial, and something in her manner seemed to wish him 
success, but “ She heard baby crying upstairs (though that 
atom had been asleep for hours), would Mr. Mortimer 
excuse her ! Of course, Annie, you’ll make him stay to 
luncheon.” 

The door shut, and the two looked at each other in silence. 

“ Your leg is better? ” said Annie anxiously. 

Percy burst out laughing. “ You mended it,” said he. 
“ You ought to know. But I didn’t call to talk about my 
leg, though it was an interesting topic once. Miss 
Dennison, were you surprised at my note?” 

“Yes. No. That’s to say, I thought you wouldn’t be 
in town at this season,” was the answer. 

“ You can guess why I want to see you, I dare say,” 
continued her visitor in such calm accents as, considering 
all things, seemed hardly flattering to the lady he had come 
to see. 

Of course Annie “ hadn’t an idea.” They never “have an 
idea.” Though women can guess with such marvellous in- 
tuition, though they leap to conclusions with such startling 
rapidity, they never expect that for which they are waiting 
and longing, and wondering why it does not come ! 

“ I can walk home as well without you as with you,” I 
heard a damsel say to her swain only last night in the 
Yauxhall Koad, but she held him fast by the arm neverthe- 
less, and I have no doubt she made him accompany her 
every yard of the way to her own door. 

“ I told you I had something to say which affected the 
happiness of two people,” proceeded Mr. Mortimer, smooth- 
ing his hat like a man who is going to propose. “ You are 
one of them. Miss Dennison, do you remember a question 
I asked you in the summer ? ” 

20 


306 


UNCLE JOHN 


“ Now for it ! ” thought Annie ; but she only nodded and 
held her breath. 

“ Your answer was hardly what I expected. I beg pardon, 
I ought to say what I hoped. But, Miss Dennison, a man 
does not ask a young lady such a question as that, unless 
he has the greatest esteem and regard for her, unless her 
happiness is as dear to him as his own.” 

“ I’m sure you are very good and kind,” faltered Annie, 
who dreaded a repetition of the proposal. “I am sure 
nobody could have a better and truer friend.” 

“ I hope I am a true friend,” answered Percy ; “ that is 
my only excuse for interfering in so delicate a matter. Miss 
Dennison, what would you do if you saw somebody you 
valued going to the dogs as fast as he could drive? ” 

“ Get between my friend and the dogs ! ” answered 
Annie. “Men do it for each other every day, and women 
would too, if they had the opportunity.” 

“ There’s an opportunity here,” said Percy. “ But I 
can’t do much good single-handed. Miss Dennison, you 
know Maxwell, and what an old friend he is of mine.” 

Annie’s heart leapt into her throat, she could not have 
spoken a word to save her life. 

“ He’s going fast to the dogs — foreign dogs too, which 
makes it no better. I thought he wasn’t like himself when 
he went away. You remember how cheery and careless he 
used to be, full of fun, full of chaff, full of good-humour. 
All at once he grew morose, desponding, miserable. I 
never saw a fellow so changed in my life. He looked like 
a man who was going to cut somebody’s throat, probably 
his own !” 

Gall and honey ! wormwood and treacle ! Poor Horace ! 
poor fellow ! It was delightful to hear this, and yet it 
pierced her to the heart ! 

“ I was glad to learn they sent him to Vienna. I thought 
the change would do him good ; and if he was only 
unhappy about an attachment, unless it was really a case, 
of course he’d be all right in six weeks.” 

Annie bowed. “ You speak by experience, I conclude,” 
said she, and wished the next moment she could recall her 
words. 

“ I took longer,” answered Mortimer. “But mine was 


A FRIEND INDEED 


307 


an object very much above the common level. That is why 
I am so anxious about my friend. Miss Dennison, Horace 
Maxwell and myself hold the same opinions on many 
matters. We have the same tastes and pursuits ; we 
admire the same characters. We were in love with the 
same woman. Now, do you understand ? ” 

What right had he to tell her this ? Why couldn’t she 
feel angry? Why couldn’t she keep down the rush of 
happiness that sent the blood tingling through her veins, 
and rushing crimson to her cheeks? Her silence, her 
embarrassment, could bear but one construction, and 
emboldened Percy to proceed. In relating the circumstance 
afterwards, he used to declare that when you got into your 
swing, it was almost as good fun playing the game for 
another fellow as for yourself, and less trouble if you win ! 

“ But it does not appear,” continued the gentleman, 
“ that Vienna is at all a good place for patients who are 
afflicted with my friend’s complaint. Dissipation is bad 
for it; smoking is bad for it; gambling, extravagance, 
excitement of all kinds is bad for it ; and I don’t think 
fighting duels likely to do much good ! ” 

“ Duels ! ” gasped poor Annie. 

“ Well, I hope the duel was arranged without bloodshed. 
Indeed I know it was, so perhaps I should not have 
mentioned it, but there was a duel impending ten days 
ago, and the worst of it is, that Horace put himself com- 
pletely in the wrong. I hear from his friends, they cannot 
make him out — cannot think what has come over him. 
Unless something is done pretty soon, he’ll be ruined. 
I’ve tried to get him recalled, but he swears nothing will 
induce him to return to England, and I don’t know how to 
extricate him, unless I go and bring him back myself.” 

“ Oh ! couldn't you, Mr. Mortimer ? ” exclaimed Annie. 
“ It would be so kind, so friendly, so generous, so like 
yourself! ” 

She was beginning to feel very pitiful, very anxious, very 
unhappy, regarding this wilful admirer, who with a pigheaded- 
ness, admirably masculine, seemed bent on destroying his 
own prospects, his own happiness, in order to distress the 
very person he loved best. Surely he alone was to blame, 
yet Annie could not but cherish certain self-reproaches on 


308 


UNCLE JOHN 


her own score. It was as if she had dropped a valuable 
piece of china and broken it. 

“If I was sure of something ,” said Percy; “ something 
that only one person in the world can assure me of, I need 
not go to Vienna ; I need not go a step further than Pall 
Mall. One line with a foreign stamp on the envelope 
would bring Horace Maxwell to London by the next mail. 
Miss Dennison, I once asked you a question for myself, and 
you said No. Don’t say no again when I ask a question 
for my friend. Miss Dennison, may I write that line ? ” 

Annie looked helplessly at every object in the room, and 
finally fixed her eyes on the pattern of the carpet. 

“What ought I to do, Mr. Mortimer? ” she said. “It 
seems so odd to be put in such a position. You are a 
true friend to both of us, and I will take your advice. 
What ought I to do ? ’’ 

“ Do nothing ! ” answered Mortimer. “ Talleyrand 
himself could not give you better counsel. Only answer 
me candidly, if Horace comes hack, shall you be glad to 
see him ? ” 

“ Very glad,” said the young lady, with her eyes still 
fixed on the carpet. 

“ Then I will undertake that he comes hack in a week,” 
said Mortimer, “without making you in anyway respon- 
sible. Miss Dennison, you can believe that I am more 
sensitive for your pride than my own. I have given you 
the best possible proof. Now let us talk about something 
else. Thanks ! I shall be delighted to stay luncheon. 
How’s the new baby? I trust in heaven they won’t bring it 
down.” 

But at that moment the luncheon-bell rang, and the new 
baby’s mamma made her appearance at the boudoir-door. 
Taking in the situation with a glance, she could make 
nothing of it. As she told her friend afterwards, she 
never felt so puzzled in her life. 

Percy’s manner was perfectly cool, assured, and comfort- 
able, as far removed from the elation of victory as from the 
forced hilarity a beaten man assumes to cover defeat. 
Nobody who had been accepted, could have asked a second 
time for roast chicken ; nobody who had been refused could 
have restricted himself to one glass of wine. Mrs. Pike 


A FRIEND INDEED 


309 


would have been satisfied with the only remaining alter- 
native, that possibly he had not proposed at all, but for a 
certain air of proprietorship with which Annie asked him 
for information concerning her own belongings, imperiously 
requiring the last news of Uncle John. 

“ I am not happy about Mr. Dennison,” answered the 
visitor. “ There’s nothing to be frightened at, but he 
does not gather strength as he ought. This last illness 
has made him look much older, and though he is as 
pleasant and good-humoured as ever, his voice gets very 
weak, and he never left his arm-chair all the time I was in 
the room.” 

“ That was yesterday,” observed Annie, who seemed to 
know all about it. 

“ Yesterday afternoon,” said Percy. “ I told him I was 
coming here and should probably see you to-day. Of 
course he was full of messages. ‘ Tell her to keep some- 
thing for St. James’s,’ he said, ‘where a good example is 
more needed and more uncommon than in the parish of St. 
Giles. If Annie really takes these matters in hand, as I 
hear she does, tell her from me — ’ shall I tell you what he 
said — no ! I won’t, it will make you vain ! ” 

Mrs. Pike felt satisfied they were engaged, and if any- 
thing could have exalted the visitor in her good opinion, it 
would have been the ardent desire he expressed to see 
baby, having previously recovered possession of his hat, 
gloves, riding- whip, with all appliances for escape. “ You’ll 
dine with us, of course, very soon,” exclaimed his hospitable 
hostess as he took leave, while Annie actually followed 
into the hall to see him get on his horse. “ The first day 
we’re disengaged I’ll let you know. We’ll have some 
pleasant people to meet you, though you won’t care much 
about that ! ” 

So waving many farewells, Percy rode off into the Park, 
wondering what he had done to win such golden opinions 
from Mrs. Pike, but disposed on reflection to credit the 
advance he had obviously made in her good graces to the 
interest he affected in her youngest born. 

That was a pleasant ride. The priceless hack seemed 
to tread on air. Its owner, after one little pang of regret 
to have lost such a wife, qualified indeed by the opinion 


310 


UNCLE JOHN 


he liad long entertained, that a wife was an unnecessary 
adjunct to a man who had everything else he wanted — 
after a little spasm of wounded vanity, to find it possible 
that any woman in the world, especially Annie Dennison, 
should prefer any man in the world, especially Horace 
Maxwell, to him, Percy Mortimer — after a little struggle, 
with the petty selfishness that cannot but encrust a nature 
wholly untried by sorrow or care, though doing that nature 
infinite credit, when, as in his case, it is only skin-deep, he 
felt that he had never been so happy in his life. The 
wintry sun was going down over Kensington Gardens in 
streaks of gold ; the late frost had yielded to that genial 
change of atmosphere we call a thaw; the Ride felt soft 
and springy ; the Park, though it was yet winter, swarmed 
with well-dressed people of both sexes, on foot and on 
horseback ; one of the greatest men in Europe greeted him 
with a familiar nod, and a friend’s child on a pony recog- 
nised him with a shout of delight. 

“ Hang it ! ” soliloquised Percy, putting “ the priceless ” 
into a gallop. “ It’s as good as sea-bathing ! I’ll make it 
a rule to do some fellow a friendly turn every day of my 
life before I go out for a ride ! ” 

“ Well— Annie ” 

“ Well— Lettie ” 

“ You don’t mean to say you’ve nothing to tell me,” 
exclaimed Mrs. Pike, as the tramp of Mortimer’s horse 
died out in the street, and the two ladies found themselves 
again in the boudoir. “ You’ve accepted him, of course.” 

Annie shook her head and laughed. “You certainly are 
the most tiresome girl in the world ! ” continued her friend. 
“ I’m sure I can’t think why I am so fond of you ! And 
everybody else, for that matter. You can’t expect a man 
to come and ask three times. What is it you do expect ? 
Are you waiting for the Great Mogul ? ” 

“ Would it be any use do you think ? ” asked Annie, 
who was evidently in the highest spirits. 

“Or Prester John?” proceeded Mrs. Pike. “There 
must be a reason. Oh ! Annie, Annie, there’s a Mr. 
Wright after all ! ” 

To this point-blank accusation, I am ashamed to confess, 
Miss Dennison returned an exceedingly evasive answer, 


A FRIEND INDEED 


311 


fencing most unworthily and withholding the confidence 
her friend undoubtedly deserved. 

“ There isn’t a man in London, there isn’t a man in 
England,” said she, “that I would walk across the room 
even to dance with. There, Lettie, are you satisfied 
now ? ” 

But Lettie could see into a millstone as far as her 
neighbours, and enjoyed, moreover, as a married woman, 
this privilege of her coverture, that she got all the gossip 
of the clubs at second-hand on the connubial pillow. The 
General had not failed to comment on Horace Maxwell’s 
ill-doings in Vienna, nor to hazard drowsy surmises as to 
their cause. 

“ I have it ! ” exclaimed the elder lady, after a pause. 
“ It’s Horace Maxwell ! Oh ! Annie, I’m so sorry. He’s 
good-for-nothing, and he’ll break your heart ! ” 

“He’s not good-for-nothing ! ” replied Miss Dennison, 
firing up. “And you’ve no right to say so. Besides, 
Lettie,” she added, in a softer tone, “ don’t you remember 
how kind he was when Trix had the whooping-cough in 
the spring ? ” 

“ He was nice about Trix,” answered Mrs. Pike, mollified 
by the touching reminiscence. “ Perhaps, after all, he’s 
not so had as I think. I know the General likes him. 
But, oh ! Annie, I wish it was the other. 

Then they fell to talking of Uncle John, prognosticating 
no good results from the change of doctors insisted on by 
Aunt Emily, and deploring the feebleness of mind and body, 
which accepted this, as all other contrarieties, in good- 
humoured equanimity. 

“ Dear Uncle ! ” observed Annie, with a very grave face. 
“If Aunt Emily would only be a little more considerate, 
and not worry him while he is so ill.” 

“I wish I could bring him here! ” replied energetic Mrs. 
Pike. “I always said that odious woman would he too 
much for him in the end ! ” 


CHAPTER XXYII 


THE RIGHT MAN 

It is hardly necessary to observe that Horace Maxwell’s 
extravagances had been considerably exaggerated. 

The gambling transactions resolved themselves, on in- 
quiry, into a few late sittings at Three-card Loo, (limited). 
The hard drinking was but a consumption of Bavarian beer 
in the “ Folks-Garden.” And although the story of the 
impending duel was so far true, that two good-natured 
Englishmen and an Austrian Colonel had found it difficult 
to arrange without bloodshed, a quarrel in which Horace 
showed less than his usual good temper and good sense, 
there seemed but one count of the indictment on which he 
could be fairly found guilty. There was no question that 
he smoked continually, and at unseasonable hours. In 
no way had he offended beyond forgiveness ; and Annie 
Dennison, though how she ascertained the truth is more 
than I can explain, experienced no little satisfaction in 
reflecting that his follies and misdemeanours had been 
confined exclusively to the society of his own sex. 

The girl was very happy now, and looked so bright while 
she went about amongst her poor, that Mr. Franks felt 
more than ever convinced the wings must be growing fast 
under her black dress, and would soon be strong enough to 
bear “ our lady ” away in a direct flight to those mysterious 
realms, for which he already began to entertain on his own 
account certain vague longings and aspirations, wholly un- 
connected with Beer. 

Annie stuck to her work unflinchingly. She neglected 
no school-hours, no vigils by the sick, no domiciliary visits, 

because Maxwell returned post-haste from Vienna, resolved 
312 


THE BIGHT MAN 


313 


to win her for his own, and lay at her feet with reckless 
generosity his prospects, none of the most encouraging, his 
happiness, already in her keeping, and himself, strange to 
say the gift she valued most of all. 

I have related how Miss Dennison refused an offer. In 
justice to her politeness, I must ask permission to describe 
the manner in which she accepted a proposal of the same 
nature. 

Winter was giving way to Spring. Horace had been 
back nearly a month, and had not yet succeeded in finding 
an opportunity to unburden his mind in Miss Dennison’s 
ear. It is difficult, except for very old campaigners, to 
make a declaration in the middle of dinner, during a 
rubber of Whist, or while engaged in general conversation 
with half-a-dozen people round a drawing-room fire. 
Maxwell could perhaps have hinted at his feelings artfully 
enough if he had not felt them, but in presence of the 
woman he really loved, this accomplished diplomatist 
became confused, tongue-tied, positively dull. 

He made great advances to Poppy however, and I have 
reason to believe that young lady was much mortified by 
his subsequent defection. 

He got desperate at last, and waylaid Miss Dennison one 
fine morning as she sallied forth in the familiar black dress, 
with the basket on her arm. 

They walked up Queen’s Gate together, I cannot explain 
why; it is by no means the shortest way from South 
Kensington to Smithfield. Pacing the side pavements 
of that airy solitude, they must have felt as free from 
supervision as on a Highland moor or a western prairie. 
Perhaps that was why Annie quickened her pace, and 
Horace found courage to announce this remarkable 
discovery. “It’s quite early, Miss Dennison; nothing 
freshens one up so much as an early walk in London.” 

Annie could not hut admit both statements. 

“ Don’t be in such a hurry,” continued the gentleman, 
gaining confidence from the sound of his own voice. 
“ Mayn’t I — mayn’t I carry the basket? ” 

The lady demurred. In that basket were stowed many 
little articles of comfort for her sick poor ; two fresh eggs, 
tea, sugar, a quarter of a pound of butter, and a couple of 


314 


UNCLE JOHN 


glass bottles, containing respectively, doctor’s stuff to be 
swallowed, and doctor’s stuff to be rubbed in. 

A shake involving breakage in such a cargo would simply 
be destruction to the whole freight. 

The owner of the basket grasped it firmly. The hand 
that wanted the basket closed round its handle, and ten 
fingers of opposite sexes, got themselves so entwined over 
the basket, that unless somebody gave way its downfall was 
imminent and inevitable. 

Horace yielded himself, rescue or no rescue. 

“Miss Dennison,” he faltered, “ Annie, my own darling, 
may I carry your basket all my life?” 

“ If you’ll put all your eggs in it, yes,” answered Annie 
boldly, and coming suddenly on a crossing-sweeper, the 
only living soul to be seen, a solemn silence intervened. 

It was broken by the lady. 

“You’re not to speak another syllable now,” she said. 
“ You’re to walk with me as far as the end, without 
opening your lips, and to put me in the first hansom cab 
we meet. I’ve got my day’s work to do, and if I was ever 
so happy myself, it’s no reason for neglecting the sick and 
the suffering.” 

“Then you are happy,” replied Horace, -walking quite 
close. 

“I didn’t say so. Don’t look so down — Yes — I am 
very, very happy — not another word — there’s a hansom, 
good-bye.” 

“ And when shall I see you again ? ” asked the gentle- 
man. Is it not always the last question a man asks who 
is parting from the woman he loves? 

“ Oh ! very soon, I dare say,” was the answer, while the 
cab-door shut with a bang. 

“ I shall come back the same way at four o’clock. Yes, 
I did. I loved you all the time.” 

If these last words were lost in the roll of wheels, it must 
have been the early rising and the walk that made Horace 
Maxwell look so pleased. The cabman winked and denoted 
approval by touching his horse up on the inside of the thigh. 
“It’s a coortin’ job,” murmured this observer of human 
nature to a sprig of early green he wore in his mouth. 
“ They mean workin’ in double-’arness, do them two. 


THE RIGHT MAN 


315 


I’ll lay they’ll step together like winking. They both looks 
so ’appy ! ” 

They were happy, very happy. So the lady lowered her 
veil and cried, the gentleman went into Kensington Gardens 
and smoked. 

It speaks well for Annie’s self-command and high sense 
of duty, that she in no way shortened any part of her daily 
round, nor allowed her attention to wander at any time to 
her own concerns. Only when she met Lexley, her heart 
smote her with pity while she contrasted her desolate life 
with the prospect that was opening for herself. Not with- 
out some little hesitation, she told him of her coming 
marriage, as they went out together from a house in which 
she had paid the last visit on her list. 

“ I thought it would be unkind that you should hear of 
it from anybody but me ,” she said timidly, though reassured 
by the calm eye and steady lip with which her intelligence 
was received. He, too, had learned the great lesson that 
it is no presumption to call divine, the great lesson that 
teaches humanity to merge its own sorrows, its own joys, 
its own existence if need be, in the service of its Maker, 
and the welfare of its kind. When we remember the 
Teacher and His example, how can we be so backward in 
the task ? 

“You deserve to be happy,” said Lexley. “And you 
are happy. God bless you, my dear Miss Dennison. 
You’ll have a great many wedding-presents I dare say, but 
there will be a casket of hearty good wishes from this 
parish to out-value all the jewellery in Hunt and Roskell’s 
window. You will wear them some day when you are 
obliged to leave the gold and the diamonds behind.” 

How she longed to tell him all she knew of Laura. To 
satisfy that hunger of the heart, which she could read in 
every line of his worn sad face. And yet she dared not. 
It would only add to his misery could he know the real 
truth. Then there was her promise, given solemnly that 
night in the school-house, and, more perplexing still, her 
ignorance, even had she thought herself justified in 
divulging everything, of Laura’s present abode ! 

She felt it nevertheless a great comfort that, owing to her 
own recommendations, the Mrs. Laxton whom she had be- 


316 


UNCLE JOHN 


friended was at least beyond actual want. She had lately 
received a letter with no date, from that lady, couched in 
very grateful language, informing her that she was now in 
full employment as a sick-nurse, and giving unqualified 
satisfaction, chiefly, as Laura wrote, with something of her 
old decision, from the unflinching persistency with which 
she made her patients swallow every drop of the medicines 
prescribed to them. Two famous London doctors she 
said sent for her in their cases of greatest emergency. 
She had her hands full, and was — no — not happy, but 
resigned ! 

When she bade him good-bye, Annie’s kind heart ached 
for her energetic coadjutor, her patient, sorrowing, and 
unselfish friend, but it was nearly four o’clock, and — and — 
Horace Maxwell had a right not to be disappointed now. 
Cab-horses were proverbially slow, this one seemed to have 
been carefully trained for a funeral, yet she arrived at the 
end of Queen’s Grate a few minutes before four. 

This did not much signify. Horace had been waiting 
there since a quarter past three ! 

There was much to be done in the next few days. A 
marriage in prospect seems to create in every family 
connected, more or less remotely, with the culprits, a total 
subversion of discipline and ordinary habits. 

Friends must be written to diffusely, relations, par- 
ticularly uncles and aunts, respectfully apprised. Simple 
household decencies are disregarded, the servants go about 
on the broad grin, and there is much opening and shutting 
of doors. 

Annie’s engagement seemed no exception to the universal 
rule. 

The General, to use his own expression “ rallied round 
her” from the first. No sooner was he informed of the 
important fact than he sallied forth, though it was already 
dusk, and returned with such a bracelet as was never before 
seen out of a jeweller’s shop, representing three months’ 
pay and allowances at least, gallantly kissing her hand 
while he clasped it round her wrist. 

“ If you don’t make a good wife, my dear,” said the 
General, “ I’ll never believe there’s such a thing to be had 
for love or money ; no, not if Lettie herself went down on 


THE BIGHT MAN 


817 


her knees, and promised from this day forth never to insist 
on having her own way. He’s a good fellow, and a lucky 
fellow, and he’s got the nicest girl in Europe, and the 
sweetest-tempered and the prettiest and the best. Come 
here, Trix, put both your arms round Annie’s neck and 
wish her joy.” 

Mrs. Pike, too, though in her secret heart she still wished 
it was “ the other one,” could not withhold her good wishes, 
promising herself at the same time much gratification in 
driving her friend through the most crowded parts of 
London for selection of the trousseau. 

“You must come and live near us,” she said, “you 
dear thing, or my children will break their little hearts ! ” 

But everybody was not so kind. After the first ebulli- 
tions of cordiality, people began to whisper and shake their 
heads and find fault. 

“ Miss Dennison wasn’t so pretty by daylight. She had 
gone off sadly of late. To be sure, she had been out a 
good many seasons. Three was it ? or four ? And she 
wasn’t such a catch after all. They had no faith in the 
old Uncle. He couldn’t be more than seventy-five at the 
outside — hale and strong — a very likely man, they should 
say, to marry again. Wasn’t she oddish too? What was 
all this sister of mercy business ? And hadn’t there been 
some queer story about a clergyman down in the country ? 
She was good enough for Mr. Maxwell at any rate ! Wild 
as a hawk, my dear, and over head and ears in debt ! 
Hadn’t you heard, obliged to get him out of the way to 
Dresden, or Berlin, or somewhere, and she almost went 
out of her mind, and wrote imploring him to come back ? 
One can hardly believe it, but she’s just the kind of girl 
to do anything out of the common way. Percy Mortimer 
knows all about it. He’s to be best man. She tried hard 
to marry him , but it wouldn’t do with our friend Percy ! 
We’ll drop a card at Mrs. Pike’s, my dear. What a bore 
it is people living such a long way off! Don’t forget to 
turn the corner down, and if we are asked to the wedding 
I suppose we had better go ! ” 

Nokes and Stokes sent conjointly a handsome locket, 
with a beautiful letter, the production of the latter, and 
were invited to attend the marriage accordingly. 


318 


UNCLE JOHN 


But to face Aunt Emily was the ordeal Annie most 
dreaded. Mrs. Dennison had a happy facility of seeing 
things in a discouraging light, and never accorded her 
approval to any plan, idea, or arrangement she did not 
herself originate. Annie had wisely broken the ice in 
writing, and flattered herself she had so worded her letter 
that it could not give offence. There was, however, an 
ominous cloud on Aunt Emily’s brow when her niece went 
to call, and Mrs. Dennison’s reception betrayed that she 
was in one of her worst humours. 

Annie trembled, remembering Uncle John’s maxim, “ It’s 
always best to give Emily plenty of rope when she’s got her 
back up.” 

Offering her hand very coldly and speaking with com- 
pressed lips, the elder lady affected a distance of manner 
at once provoking and ridiculous. 

“ Won’t you wish me joy, aunt? ” said Annie, coming 
bravely to the point, and eager to get it over. 

“ Congratulation without approval,” replied the other 
severely, “is a mere mockery of good-will. I hope for 
the best, and though I have never been consulted at any 
one stage of the whole proceedings, though I dare say I 
am considered a mere lay-figure and nonentity, you are my 
husband’s brother’s child, Annie Dennison, and I wish 
you well.” 

This was unsatisfactory, but to a certain extent un- 
answerable. 

Annie could think of nothing better to say than, “ Didn’t 
it surprise you, aunt ? ” 

“ Surprise me! ” repeated Mrs. Dennison loftily, 

“ nothing can surprise a person who has common expe- 
rience in the folly and ingratitude of the world. I was 
grieved, Annie, and shocked, and — and disgusted, indeed, 
but not surprised.” 

Still the girl kept her temper. “ I had hoped, aunt, 
you would have spoken more kindly. I came here thinking 
you would congratulate me like other people. I have no 
mother, you know. Uncle John is my nearest relation on 
earth.” 

“ Why don’t you treat me like a mother? ” asked Mrs. 
Dennison, who had never treated Annie nor anybody else 
like a daughter. 


THE BIGHT MAN 


319 


“ And after all, auntie dear,” pursued the girl, ignoring 
the maternal question, “ we met, and, and — began to like 
each other in your house, the dear old Priors ! I shall he 
fonder of it than ever now.” 

“ That was one of your uncle’s arrangements,” answered 
Mrs. Dennison, thawing a little, but still many degrees 
below temperate. “If he had listened to me, all this 
might have been avoided. If he had taken my advice, 
which he never does, he would not he laid up on the ground 
floor now.” 

“ How is Uncle John ? ” asked Annie, glad of the 
diversion, and really anxious to know. “Mr. Mortimer 
gave us a very poor account of him.” 

“ Mr. Mortimer had better mind his own business,” was 
the captious answer. “ Bolus was doing no good. I never 
had the slightest confidence in Bolus, so I sent for Gripes. 
He thinks your uncle is mending, and so do I; but you 
know what a had patient he is, takes no care of himself, 
and cannot he induced to do anything he is told, — one 
would think he liked to be ill for sheer obstinacy.” 

“ May I go and see him, aunt? ” said Annie, not averse 
to concluding the interview, and permission being granted, 
though somewhat churlishly, Miss Dennison proceeded 
downstairs, through certain well-known passages to a 
gloomy apartment in the hack settlements which Uncle 
John was pleased to term “ his snuggery.” 

“Come in,” said the kind voice in answer to her knock, 
and the kind face lifting itself from the cushions amongst 
which it rested, greeted her with the old pleasant smile she 
knew so well and loved so dearly. 

“ God bless you, dear,” said her uncle, “ I’ve heard all 
about you. Good news travels fast. I think you’ve chosen 
well, and I am sure he will make you happy.” 

Annie crossed over to the invalid on his sofa, and 
kissed his fine old forehead with her eyes as full as her 
heart. 

He was sadly, cruelly changed. The manly figure had 
drooped and shrunken by a span, the high features were 
worn and attenuated to an unnatural delicacy, and in the 
patient eyes lurked that strange, wan lustre which once 
seen can never be mistaken, pale and dim, yet shining as 


320 


UNCLE JOHN 


though it had been kindled beforehand, to light the way- 
farer through the valley of the Shadow of Death. 

“ Oh ! uncle, uncle dear,” said Annie, pressing his head 
with both hands to her breast, “ you’re getting better. 
Surely you are getting better ; this new man must be doing 
you good.” 

I need scarcely say that Mr. Dennison’s was not only a 
kind hut a courageous nature. Of his own failing health, 
none could he so well aware as himself. When Bolus 
thought it would he “more satisfactory” to have further 
advice, and suggested a consultation with Gripes, Mr. 
Dennison sent for his lawyer, and lost no time in making 
such dispositions as would cause the least possible incon- 
venience to those he left behind him after his death. 
Uncle John had never been one of those men who live 
in this world as if it was to last for ever. While he 
accepted its pleasures with exceeding thankfulness and 
great moderation, its pains with a cheerful philosophy, 
fully as much the offspring of temperament as of religion, 
he looked forward with the confidence of a Christian to that 
future of which the heathen philosopher had but a vague 
and misty conception, when he announced the “ Spatiuvi 
extremum mtce,” the close of life’s turmoil, to be of all 
Nature’s gifts the wisest and the best. 

To say that he did not fear death, would he to say that 
he was not human ; hut if there were no fear, there would 
be no courage ; and while he dreaded he could yet confront 
the Inevitable, calmly, resolutely, and with unselfish fore- 
sight as to how it would affect others besides himself. 

To Gripes he had made a clean breast of it on this very 
matter of his niece’s marriage. 

“ How long d’ye give me, doctor? ” he asked, cheerfully, 
pleasantly, and with no more anxiety than is shown by an 
old soldier when warned he will he in action in ten minutes. 
“ Six weeks will do it, or even five ! ” 

Gripes was shocked ; the question seemed so indecorous, 
so unprofessional. He shook his head, and took refuge 
in some long words, concluding with a panegyric on Mr. 
Dennison’s “ splendid constitution,” at which that gentle- 
man, conscious it had broken down rather prematurely, 
only smiled. 


THE BIGHT MAN 


321 


“ It would be very inconvenient for us all if the wedding 
had to be put off,” continued Uncle John, taking an im- 
partial and characteristic view of the whole matter ; “my 
niece is the best girl in Europe, and I should like to see 
her happily settled before I go somewhere else. If the 
resources of medicine or of surgery can give me, say a 
month’s reprieve, doctor, go to work at once. I’ll do 
everything you order, and submit to anything you 
propose.” 

Thus urged, Gripes conceded that “there was no im- 
mediate danger,” pocketed his fee, and took his leave, very 
glad to get away. 

“ The new man is as wise as a serpent,” said her uncle, 
in reply to Annie’s anxious and affectionate inquiry, “ but 
he can't grind old people young. Now tell me all about it, 
my pretty Annie. It began at the dear old Priors, and he 
won your foolish heart by riding Barmecide so well the 
day after the frost. Ah ! the young horse will carry him 
better next season,” continued Uncle John, reverting to a 
certain codicil of his will, not without a little pang to think 
that Barmecide’s master would never see the tawny woods, 
the dripping fences, the lush November pastures, and the 
bloom on the gorse again ! “ And, Annie dear, I hope you 
and your husband will keep your Christmas at the old 
house whatever happens. So he came back from Vienna, 
neglecting the interests of his country, and proposed with- 
out delay. My dear, I give you joy with all my heart ! A 
white dress and a wreath, instead of the black gown and 
the basket. A good exchange too. Now tell me, dear, 
hasn’t he asked you how long it will take to get your 
clothes made?” 

“Oh, uncle ! ” protested Miss Dennison, with a blush. 

“ I’m to give you your trousseau, you know that’s a very 
old agreement. Now, Annie, will you do me a favour ? ” 

“ Of course I will,” was the irrepressible answer. “ I’ll 
do anything in the world you ask me. Oh ! uncle, I won’t 
be married at all unless you are really better.” 

“I am better,” he replied with a feeble smile. “No 
thanks to Bolus, though — I hope Emily wasn’t rude to 
him about the other man. But the favour is this, I can 
manage the lawyers, but you must hurry the dress-makers, 


322 


UNCLE JOHN 


stay-makers, bonnet-makers, cake-makers, all the people 
we can’t do without. I should like, dear, if it could be 
arranged, for the wedding to take place in less than three 
weeks. We’ll have the breakfast here , of course. 

.Annie shot a wistful glance at the kind worn face, a sad 
suspicion cut her to the heart. 

“ Uncle, dear uncle,” she murmured, “ Horace and I 
would much rather wait till you are better.” 

“It’s too long to put it off, Annie,” answered Uncle 
John quietly. “ If I wasn’t tired, I could repeat you half- 
a-dozen proverbs to that effect. No, no, my dear, Thurs- 
day fortnight at the latest. If Gripes is worth his salt, he 
ought to bring me to the post in good enough form to give 
you away ; but I won’t answer for either of us a week later. 
Do as I tell you, dear, and good-bye.” 

“ But you’ll promise to get better,” persisted Annie, 
with another hearty hug. 

“ Yes, yes, dear,” replied the invalid ; “ when I begin to 
get better, I shall be quite well ! ” 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


THE BEST MAN 

“ The blue coat, of course!” exclaimed Percy Mortimer, for 
the first time in his life showing a tendency to fidget. 
“ What fools servants are ! Who ever heard of going to a 
wedding in a black frock coat ? ” Then he got himself up 
with exceeding care in gaudy colours, white gloves, and a 
resplendent tie. Though he was not the bridegroom, and 
even now this reflection sometimes gave him a little twinge, 
he at least looked the character from top to toe, causing 
Horace Maxwell, whom he carried to church with him, as 
in duty bound, to appear quite dowdy by comparison. 

“ Why, Percy ! ” exclaimed the latter, overwhelmed with 
the splendour of his Best Man, “ you have done it to-day. 
Happily it’s too late for the bride to change her mind, but 
I wouldn’t give much for your chance among the brides- 
maids.” 

“I’m in love with Poppy, and engaged to Trix,” 
answered Mr. Mortimer. “ The others I don’t know, so 
make your mind easy about me. How d’ye find yourself, 
old fellow — could you eat any breakfast — have you had a B. 
and S. — don’t you feel in a funk — are your hands cold — 
and haven’t you forgotten the ring ? ” 

“It’s not a thing to chaff about,” replied his principal 
gravely, “particularly for a man who has never done it him- 
self. I say, Percy, which side of the parson ought I to 
stand, and does it make any difference being married by a 
bishop ? ” 

The discussion arising from these abstract questions 
brought them to the church door, at which a crowd had 
already gathered, who passed their opinions freely on the 
two gentlemen, canvassing the exterior of each in turn as 

323 


324 


UNCLE JOHN 


the possible bridegroom, till set right by a ragged urchin 
of thirteen, who, pointing him out with an exceedingly dirty 
hand, thus identified the real culprit — 

“ That’s ’im as is a-goin’ to he tied up. Cracky ! von’t 
he catch it from his missis yen she takes ’im ’ome ! ” 

The roar occasioned by the little villain’s sally w r as lost 
in the tramp of advancing feet, for at this juncture more 
than two hundred of Annie’s Smithfield and water-side 
friends made their appearance, to line the street in her 
honour on each side of the church door, every man of them 
sober and smiling, with his face washed, and his Sunday 
coat on. Was there ever a wedding without tears ? They 
rushed to Annie’s eyes more than once to-day, but never so 
freely as when those honest hearts sent up their shouts of 
congratulation, loud as she went in a bride, louder as she 
came out a wife. 

The ceremony was touching and imposing. A bishop 
in lawn sleeves stood on one side of the altar, and Lexley, 
looking very tall in his canonicals, on the other. Uncle 
John, notwithstanding his own courage and his doctor’s 
skill, felt unable to reach the church, but hoped to attend 
the breakfast at his own house in Guelph Street. His 
place was filled by the General, who gave the bride away, and 
who could not have looked more martial had he appea ed 
in review order with all his decorations on. Mrs. Pike, a 
vision of tulle, laces, jessamine, smiles and tears, pervaded 
the vestry, the chancel, the nave, and, indeed, the whole 
sacred edifice, while the six bridesmaids, big and little, 
behaved with a demure composure beyond all praise. 
Poppy showed herself a model of decorum, but poor little 
Trix, holding fast by her sister’s hand, never took her eyes 
off the bishop, whom, by some inexplicable process of her 
young mind, she connected with her terror at the Zoological. 
Fixing on him a fascinated gaze of wonder and aversion, I 
fear the little maid passed a very unpleasant half-hour, 

“ Who giveth this woman to be married to this man ? ” 
What a responsibility ! What a venture ! Who can tell 
whether that which seems ordained of heaven to ensure the 
greatest human happiness shall not turn out a daily sorrow, 
a secret canker, or a life-long shame — a thing to make the 
best of rather than to enjoy, not a blessing to be cherished, 


THE BEST MAN 


325 


but a burden to be endured ? Nevertheless, blessing or 
burden, penance or indulgence, no doubt a loving dispensa- 
tion, through which Mercy draws her children to look 
upward from things of earth to things of heaven. 

The General entertained no sinister forebodings, feared 
no responsibility on his own account, or that of any one 
else. He gave his young lady away with so cordial a push 
as nearly sent her bodily into the arms of her bridegroom, 
folding his own thereafter with an air of consummate dignity 
and satisfaction. Poppy looked at papa in admiration, Trix 
still held the bishop in her eye. 

Aunt Emily, gorgeously attired, thought proper to be ex- 
ceedingly lachrymose and uncomfortable, assuming a sad- 
dened air of forgiveness and resignation, intended to imply 
that her own married life had been one of unexampled 
oppression, forbearance, and long-suffering, though except 
in so far as she had made it unpleasant to one of the 
kindest-hearted and best-tempered of men, a less eventful 
existence could hardly be imagined. The rest of the com- 
pany lounged, yawned, held their prayer-books upside down, 
followed the pew-opener about with their eyes, and seemed 
glad when the ceremony was over. Stokes, who with his 
comrade had come up from Middleton by the morning 
train, whispered to Nokes, “ I suppose they’ll give us some 
grub the instant this thing is over?” and Nokes replied 
oracularly, “Immediately, if not before.” 

And now the ring is on, the blessing pronounced, the ex- 
hortation read, and the bride walks into the vestry, no 
longer Annie Dennison, but Mrs. Horace Maxwell. 

Whispers, smiles, hand-shakings, laughter, a drying of 
eyes, and a confusion of tongues. Names are signed in an 
ominous business-like volume; there is a vast deal of 
fluttering about, especially amongst the bridesmaids. Aunt 
Emily affronts two of the bridegroom’s aunts at a blow, by 
taking one for the other and being rude to both. The 
bishop looks on with approval, tempered by experience 
and the conscious superiority of a man who pulls the wires. 
Lexley, with a muttered prayer for her happiness, presses 
Annie’s hand once more, and makes his escape. There is 
a pause, a silence, one of Poppy’s white satin shoes comes 
off, creating a diversion, during which the clerk enters, looks 


326 


UNCLE JOHN 


about him mysteriously, whispers to Percy Mortimer, and 
the party dissolves. 

The last-named gentleman, who is of an observant 
nature, does not fail to notice two remarkable facts. The 
only person who seems thoroughly master of the situation 
is the clerk aforesaid, while there is but one individual in 
the company more at a loss and out of his element than he 
feels himself, viz., the bridegroom. Percy comes to the 
conclusion that there is one part at a wedding even more 
embarrassing to fill than that of Best Man ! 

People seem much easier in mind and manners when 
they find themselves crowding Aunt Emily’s two large 
drawing-rooms in Guelph Street, with wedding-favours on 
their breasts, a line of carriages at the door, and a German 
band playing pathetic strains in excellent time, but a little 
out of tune, under the windows. The party has received 
an accession of strength in several fresh arrivals, who 
throng the spacious apartments, and make the earlier 
guests feel comparatively at home. Annie has a little 
court of her own, so has Uncle John. The two courts join 
when the bride, crossing to the invalid’s chair, stoops her 
fair young face, crowned by its marriage wreath, to lay a 
kiss upon the good old brow, which is already stamped 
with the seal of death. 

What a contrast ! The girl, in all the flush and 
sparkle of her beauty, entering on the duties and joys of 
womanhood, hopeful, triumphant, loving and beloved. 
The old man, worn, feeble, exhausted, looking back along 
the path he has travelled, wondering how short a distance 
it seems, finding little to exult in, less to regret, and w T hile 
he rejoices in her joy, chiefly concerned for her sake, 
because that joy must soon be damped by tidings of his own 
release. 

Which is to be envied of the two ? I think I know. 
She has her work before her. He has done his. She is 
beginning the ascent of life. He is standing on the 
threshold of heaven. 

“ Dear Mr. Dennison looks so much better,” says every- 
body. “ And have you seen what a beautiful dressing-case 
he has given the bride?” But Aunt Emily, perhaps 
because she naturally runs counter to the general opinion, 


THE BEST MAN 


327 


feels alarmed to-day for the first time. She begins to 
realise how lonely she will he without him, and to think 
she might have been kinder when he was here. 

Annie’s presents afford a fertile topic of conversation. 
They comprise every kind of article useful, ornamental, and 
the reverse. She herself points out with exceeding pride 
a tea-kettle of hideous shape and gigantic dimensions, 
presented by her friends at the East End of London. No 
subscriber has been allowed to contribute more than a 
penny towards this testimonial, and the bride relates an 
anecdote with much gratification and some humour, of a 
little crossing-sweeper whom she found weeping bitterly 
because one-half his munificent offering of twopence had 
been summarily rejected. 

“How well she looks! How well she carries it off?” 
says everybody to everybody else. “ Not the least put out, 
not the least shy. Where are they going to live? And 
where do they spend the honeymoon? ” 

But breakfast is already served. She takes her place by 
her new husband, like a king and queen on Twelfth Night, 
opposite half a ton of wedding-cake, and people sit down to 
a serious meal, beginning with soup and fish, at one o’clock 
in the day. 

Uncle John, by help of a stick and General Pike’s arm, 
totters across the room. 

“ Hold up, old man ! ” says the General gaily, but his 
heart aches to feel how heavily the wasted frame leans on 
his own strong limb. “ This is one of your had days, I am 
afraid. Go and rest, like a wise man, directly the parade 
is dismissed. I’ll take all the heavy business off your 
hands.” 

“ You’ll stay in town till the end of the week,” is Uncle 
John’s rejoinder. “ If I send over, I shall be sure to find 
you?” 

“ Find me! ” echoes the General, in a voice that reaches 
Mrs. Pike at the other end of the table. “ I wouldn’t go 
out of town if the Queen sent for me to Osborne; you 
know that well enough! Keep your heart up, John,” 
he adds, in a lower tone, “ it may not be so had as you 
think.” 

His friend only presses his hand, hut the two old 


328 


UNCLE JOHN 


comrades understand each other, and the General’s voice 
is very husky, while he urges the lady next him, not 
unsuccessfully, to venture on a glass of champagne. 

If we only knew it, the Death’s-head is surely present at 
all our feasts. Why do we persist in treating him like a 
poor relation, whom we cannot utterly ignore, but acknow- 
ledge distantly, unwillingly, and with a cold shoulder ? 
Ought we not rather to consider him as our own best friend, 
certainly as the benefactor of our heirs and assignees? 
The old Scandinavians, like the modern Irish, made great 
rejoicings at the demise of their heroes, “waking” them 
with lavish hospitality and the consumption of much strong 
liquor. They thought well, also, to slay the favourite horse of 
the deceased, that he might not find himself dismounted in 
the world of spirits ; and occasionally, we are told, cut the 
throats of a few intimate friends, lest he should feel lonely, 
just at first, amongst strangers ; but the prevailing 
sentiment seems to have been one of congratulation, 
rather than condolence, on the emancipation of an aspiring 
soul from its tenement of clay. Why should we who are 
Christians, and hope for a better future than the halls of 
Odin and their draughts of mead out of foemen’s skulls, 
shrink with something of indignation from any allusion to 
our latter end? Why, when those we love have gone 
before to heaven, should we bewail ourselves, refusing to be 
comforted ? Why, when the inevitable pursuer has over- 
taken those we do not care for, should we assume grave 
faces, deep mourning, and debar ourselves from all innocent 
recreations enjoyed openly before the world, in favour of 
pleasures, equally innocent of course, that can be snatched 
in secret? 

I should like to ask the bishop this question, but the 
bishop is busy with a tender cutlet and a tough old lady, 
who is making fierce love to him. Also he is somewhat 
exercised in his mind concerning Mr. Lexley, whose 
character he highly approves, whose good works have 
reached his ears, and whose energy he thinks he could 
turn to account in his own diocese. Besides all this he is 
calculating how soon the feast will be over, and when he 
can get his carriage, for the time of this spiritual lord is 
fully occupied, and long before he lays his head on his 


THE BEST MAN 


329 


pillow, lie will have earned his night’s rest as honestly as 
any day-labourer who carries a pickaxe or a hod. 

It is therefore with a sensation of relief that the right 
rev. father hears a gentleman deliver himself with much 
hesitation and tautology, of certain far-fetched metaphors 
and intricate sentences that resolve themselves into the 
health of the bride and bridegroom. The bishop, who 
could have said it all much better in ten words of good 
English, does honour to the toast by a sip of champagne, 
and sees some hope of release. 

And now people begin to look at each other, wondering 
whether their faces are as flushed as their neighbour’s, and 
if there is to he more speechifying. Stokes now electrifies 
the company by the eloquence with which he adjures them 
to drink the health of the bridesmaids, and Nokes, to the 
intense dismay of that gallant officer, is called on to return 
thanks. Everybody seems to expect amusement from his 
embarrassment. Percy Mortimer glances at his principal, 
and the bridegroom, perfectly happy no doubt at heart, 
though much depressed in spirits, returns a gloomy smile. 
Nokes rises, overwhelmed with confusion, hut full of pluck. 
Fixing his gaze on the largest and whitest and nakedest 
of the Cupids that adorn the wedding-cake, he remains 
speechless for a moment to collect his thoughts. Presently 
he gets as far as “Ladies and Gentlemen” — a pause — 
“ Ladies and Gentlemen ” — another pause — Bravo ! Go it 
Nokes ! — “ I rise on behalf of the bridesmaids to return 
thanks for their health. I am a bad hand at speaking ; I 
wish I wasn’t, but it makes little matter, because ” — here 
he deserted the Cupid, and stared so hard at Trix as to 
frighten her exceedingly — “because, when the right time 
comes, and the right man, I am sure each of them will be 
quite able to speak for herself! ” 

Thunders of applause, with an audible “ Very good 
indeed,” from the bishop, who rises from table and sets the 
example of a move. 

It is needless to observe that Nokes was warmly con- 
gratulated on the success of this his first attempt at oratory 
the same evening in the smoking-room of his club. He 
bore his honours meekly, confiding to his intimates the 
terror that possessed him, even in the moment of triumph. 


330 


UNCLE JOHN 


“ There mast have been a hundred people ! ” he said 
with the utmost gravity, “ and more than half of them 
women. I tell you I was in a blue funk ! ” 

So the bride disappeared to re-appear in a spick-and- 
span new travelling-dress, the carriage was at the door, the 
farewells were said, the crowd stood expectant, Percy 
Mortimer pervaded the stairs with satin shoes in his hands, 
Annie had reached the first landing, when she ran hack 
once more to kiss the kind old man who, ever since she 
could remember, had been to her in the place of a father. 

“ Horace, darling,” she whispered to her husband as 
they rolled out of London on the Uxbridge Road, “ some- 
thing is going to happen, I know. When I wished Uncle 
J ohn good-bye for the last time his face was like the face of 
an angel ! ” 


CHAPTER XXIX 


RELEASED 

Mrs. Dennison bade her guests farewell with more courtesy 
than usual. People remembered afterwards that her manner 
had seemed strangely softened and subdued. Then she 
went to her own room, took out a book of prayers, and 
knelt upon her knees. The housemaid found her, an hour 
afterwards, listening at her husband’s door, unwilling to 
disturb him lest he should be asleep. “ I do believe missis 
was crying,” said the woman, and such a display of weak- 
ness on the part of one whom they considered a character 
of adamant, created much consternation in the world below 
stairs. Then she ordered the carriage, and drove off with 
no fixed purpose of consulting him, but with some vague 
hope of catching Dr. Gripes at his own residence. It is 
needless to say that eminent man was earning his guineas 
at the other end of the town, but Mrs. Dennison felt 
anxious, uneasy, perhaps a little remorseful, and could not 
rest. 

Too late, she saw how completely, for more than half a 
lifetime, she had ignored and thrown away the comfort at 
least, if not the happiness she might have enjoyed, visiting 
on the kindly nature that was linked to hers those petty 
vexations for which it was in no way answerable ; that 
constant irritation which sprang from her own morbid 
temperament and unemployed mind. She would have 
worked for him in the fields, and welcome, had she not 
been born a lady, and under such necessity would probably 
have been a healthier and a happier woman. She would 
have endured privation for his sake cheerfully enough, and 
was indeed capable of making any sacrifice on his behalf, 


332 


UNCLE JOHN 


except the indulgence of bitter words in which to couch 
unkind and unworthy thoughts. All this seemed to dawn 
on her now for the first time, when it was too late. 

Oh ! if we could but speak with them across the narrow 
river ! If we could hut make those shadows hear, yonder 
where they flit vaguely through the gloom on the other bank, 
telling them how we loved them, though they never knew 
it, though we never knew it ourselves till we came home 
and saw the empty chair by the fire, the picture with its 
face turned to the wall. But no ; they waver and pass 
before our eyes, cold, cruel, insensible, pitiless surely of 
our anguish, and careless of our remorse. In the stillness 
of their rest, have they even spared a thought for our 
desolation? have they ever joined their entreaties to ours, 
when we prayed our hearts out that they might visit us 
once again? 

If they could only come hack ! were it but for a day, an 
hour ! we would be so fond, so patient, so forbearing; never 
again should they have cause to doubt the love that is 
straining even now to reach them beyond the grave ! 

It was nearly dusk when Aunt Emily returned from her 
drive, and again visited her husband’s room. He was 
extended on the sofa in the same attitude as if he had not 
moved a limb since she left him, and, though in the fading 
light she could not detect any great change on his face, 
there was something sadly ominous in the weak tones that 
welcomed her return. 

“Is that you, Emily?” said the failing voice; “I am 
glad you went out in the carriage, the fresh air will do you 
good, and, Emily, I am glad you have not stayed away very 
long.” 

“Are you really glad to have me with you? ” faltered 
Mrs. Dennison, lifting her husband’s wasted hand to her 
lips and bursting into tears. “ Oh ! John, you’re worse 
to-night ! I’ve been to the doctor’s. I left word he was to 
come here the moment he got home.” 

Uncle John shook his head. “ You’ve tried to do all 
you can I am quite sure,” said he, “ and Gripes has tried 
to do all he can't. I don’t like keeping the servants out of 
bed, hut one must stay up to-night in case I want to send a 
note or message. Come and sit here. I can hardly see 


RELEASED 


333 


you, it’s so dark, and my eyes are getting so dim. How did 
you think the wedding went off? Didn’t Annie look well? ” 

But Mrs. Dennison had no interest to spare for Annie or 
the wedding. 

“ John,” she murmured, “ I’ve something to say to you ; 
only you seem so weak and ill I am almost afraid.” 

“ Say it, my dear,” was the answer; “perhaps this time 
to-morrow I shall not be able to listen.” 

She kept her tears down, holding him tight by the hand. 

“John,” she whispered, “I have thought a great deal 
about you and me lately. I might have made you a much 
better wife. I see it now as I never saw it before ; that we 
haven’t been happier together, has been my fault.” 

I’ve been happy enough ! ” answered kind Uncle John. 
“Far happier than I deserved. A little tiff now and then 
means nothing, and a quick temper is very different from a 
bad heart.” 

He was not thinking, though she was, of days and weeks 
spent in sullen estrangement, of sarcasm before equals, and 
rebuke before inferiors, of outrage offered by feminine 
violence, and insult pointed by feminine ingenuity, that 
could therefore neither he resented nor returned. He had 
forgiven one offence after another almost as soon as com- 
mitted, and the offender, thinking it all over now, would 
have washed them out willingly in her blood ! ” 

“John,” she continued, in a choking voice, “I am 
afraid you would have been happier with anybody than 
with me!” 

There was too little light to detect it on his features, hut 
something of the old quaint humour vibrated in his tone, 
while he replied : 

“ Never think it, dear ! Haven’t I often told you that I 
am convinced, if we only knew it, one fellow’s wife is just 
as tiresome as another fellow’s ? And the same rule applies 
to husbands, you may he sure. No, my dear, we didn’t jog 
on so badly after all.” 

“But we’ll jog on much better in future,” exclaimed his 
wife, smiling through her tears, and Uncle John charac- 
teristically unwilling to damp so comforting an anticipation, 
was glad that in the increasing darkness she could not see 
his face. 


334 


UNCLE JOHN 


He knew the end drew very near, knew that it was now 
a mere question of how long his strength would hold out, 
as he groped feebly under the sofa cushions for a note he 
had written two days ago, while his fingers could hold a pen, 
and that he kept by him to be sent off in his extremity, to 
the oldest friend he had in the world. 

It was addressed “Major-General Pike,” and consisted 
but of two lines, summoning that officer to come and see 
the writer “through it, like a staunch old comrade as he 
was ! ” 

When Gripes arrived, which he did sooner than might 
have been expected, raising a question whereon we need 
not now enter, viz., “ When do doctors dine? ” he ordered 
his patient to be put to bed at once. That he thought ill 
of the case I gather from his subsequent proceedings, 
rather than from the conversation he held with Mrs. 
Dennison in the back drawing-room, looking bare and 
comfortless after its reception of company for the wedding- 
breakfast. To her eager inquiries, he returned answers 
that, if unsatisfactory, were scarcely alarming. “ He 
should not change the medicine,” he said. “ Their patient 
was very composed and tranquil. But for great prostra- 
tion, there seemed no immediate danger. Mrs. Dennison 
had better endeavour to get some rest, at any rate during 
the first portion of the night. He would send in a nurse 
she might thoroughly depend upon — and — that was all he 
could do at present. He would look in, the first thing to- 
morrow morning, of course. 

But directly he got home, he despatched his own servant 
in a cab with the following missive. 


“ Mrs. Laxton, 

“ Please accompany the bearer at once, to watch a case 
requiring the greatest care. You shall be relieved to-morrow 
morning. Immediate. Very critical. 

“Archibald Gripes.” 


Then he attacked a warmed-up cutlet that had been 
ready since seven, bolting it much faster than he would 
have allowed a patient to eat, swallowed two glasses of the 


RELEASED 


335 


best sherry in London, and was off again with a tired 
coachman and a fresh pair of horses, to launch on society 
a little marquis, who came squalling into the cold as befits 
equally the tattered beggar’s brat and him whom the ardens 
purpura vestit . 

Nobody works so hard as a clever doctor during the day. 
Nobody, not even a good clergyman, ought to lie down with 
more self-satisfaction at night. 

Laura, too, had found by this time, that to be busy was 
at least to dull the shafts of memory, and baffle the attacks 
of regret. With Annie Dennison’s recommendation, she 
had gained her footing in a line of business that seemed 
especially fitted for her peculiar faculties and disposition. 
She was so quiet, so courageous, so imperturbable ; invin- 
cible by fatigue, not sensitive to a sufferer’s pangs, clear- 
headed, firm, and an unflinching disciplinarian. The first 
doctor who employed her vowed he had discovered a treasure, 
and she soon found herself with “her hands full,” as she 
expressed it, “ and money in both pockets.” 

She lived in a neat and comfortable apartment now, con- 
taining for its only ornament the engraving of a church 
bearing some fancied resemblance nobody else could have 
detected, to that in which Lexley used to officiate in the 
days that were gone like a dream. She had hopes, how- 
ever, of soon purchasing a pianoforte. So she must have 
been easier than heretofore, both in mind and circumstances. 
She had come home for supper and bed when the doctor’s 
servant arrived with his imperative message, but there 
was no time to be lost, so cutting a slice from the loaf, she 
drank a glass of fair water, washed her face and hands, 
smoothed the beautiful brown hair, and putting on a pair 
of fresh gloves, announced herself ready to depart. Laura’s 
glances, though far-seeing as a hawk’s, wore that soft, 
bewildering expression we so often observe in eyes of defec- 
tive vision, and she had a way of looking at people as if 
she saw miles beyond them, not without its effect. The 
doctor’s servant, coming under the range of those deep grey 
orbs, felt this was quite an unusual specimen of a sick 
nurse, and although he was a man of considerable presence 
and self-esteem, who would have accosted an archbishop 
without the slightest diffidence, the small-talk with which 


336 


UNCLE JOHN 


lie intended to beguile tlieir drive in the cab, froze into 
respectful silence on his lips. 

Laura was so accustomed to expeditions of a like nature 
that till the vehicle drew up at the well-known door in 
Guelph Street, she had not given a thought to the identity 
of the patient she was summoned to attend. In her mind 
the individual was wholly merged in the case — “ immediate 
and critical ” — but now before the very portals of a house 
that had been almost home, the difficulty of her position 
flashed upon her at a glance. To be recognised was to 
undo all that she had effected through sufferings and 
sacrifices she alone could realise. To be recognised was to 
unite once more the link it had cost her so much to sever, 
at the penalty of exposing Lexley to the shame she had 
been breaking her heart to screen him from. But he would 
hear of her. He was in London. Perhaps she might even 
see him ! Besides, there was human life at stake. It was 
too late to go back now, and while these considerations 
chased each other through her brain, the cab drove off, and 
she found herself following a sleepy, sorrowful servant with 
noiseless footsteps towards the death-chamber of Uncle 
John. 

Walking softly to his bed-side, and peering through the 
curtains, her experience did not fail to tell her that human 
aid was too late, that human care could be of no avail. 
Laura had been present at enough death-beds to recognise 
most of those forms in which the pitying Angel comes with 
his bond of acquittance and release. She could not mistake 
the dim but earnest eye, the fallen cheek, the parted lips, 
the involuntary movement of the wasted hand that lay out- 
side the counterpane ; above all, the placid consciousness of 
approaching rest stealing down like a mist over the pale 
face, forerunner of that perfect peace which would stamp it 
with the seal of immortality before to-morrow’s dawn should 
brighten into day. 

It was all over with Uncle John in this world. She could 
have cried, but that tears were so useless and unprofessional. 

She need not have feared recognition, even without the 
thick veil falling from the bonnet she would not therefore 
remove. The servant left her without a sign that betrayed 
he had ever seen her in his life. Aunt Emily, who went to 


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337 


lie down three hours before, had not been disturbed, by her 
dying husband’s express desire. The only other watcher 
was an elderly man who sat by the bed-side, with his face 
buried in his hands, denoting by his attitude that he 
struggled fiercely against emotion, and kept it down. 

In the trenches at Sebastopol, on the hard-fought fields 
of the Crimea, through the sweltering marches and rapid 
combinations of the Mutiny, Pike had seen many an honest 
fellow perish of fever in camp, or go down by a soldier’s 
death in the field. He had been little impressed with their 
fate, perhaps because at any moment it might be his own. 
Sturdy, uncompromising, rough in manner, blunt of speech, 
and stern even to severity in matters of discipline, he might 
have been thought, on service, a man devoid of feeling ; but 
the General was not on service now, and sitting by his old 
friend’s death-bed, no woman’s heart could have been sorer 
than the brave old soldier’s, no woman’s tears could have 
been more difficult to keep back. Were they not school- 
fellows at Eton, subalterns in the same regiment, sworn 
friends in many a perilous adventure, many a venial scrape? 
Had they not pulled each other through every kind of 
difficulty, from a tired horse in a ditch to a scheming harpy 
in a ball-dress, from an empty cartridge-case to a protested 
bill ? And must he sit there idle, and watch John Denni- 
son drifting gradually, surely, silently out to the dark sea, 
nor move a finger to help him at his need ? It vexed him. 
It angered him. He lifted his head with an impatient 
gesture, and would have risen to vent some of his irritation 
on the nurse, but that the dying man’s eyes travelled round 
to his face, and the poor pale hand, once so strong on an 
oar, so light on a bridle, fell like a leaf on his arm. 

“ Don’t go,” said Uncle John, in a calm voice, though 
very weak and low ; “ I shall not be long about it, but you 
must stay for the finish. I can’t do without you, dear old 
friend, when we come to the run-in ! ” 

“Is there no hope?” gasped the General, in a hoarse 
thick whisper. “ Dear old man ! You were always the 
pluckiest fellow in the regiment ! Can’t you harden your 
heart, just for one more spurt, and get over it ? ” 

Uncle John smiled feebly. “I shall get over it,” he 
said ; “ but it will be to reach the other side. What is it 

22 


338 


UNCLE JOHN 


after all, old friend? I am only going on a little in 
advance. You will follow long before you have forgotten 
me, and we shall meet again.” 

“ I trust in the Lord we may ! ” responded the General, 
and I am afraid he muttered below his breath, “ It’s 
d d hard lines if we don’t.” 

“ You’ll get there, never fear,” continued the dying man, 
with a bright smile. “ You know how, and you know why 
they let such poor black sheep as you and me in, if we only 
hope, and try, and pray to do better. I say, old fellow, 
you’ll often think of me, won’t you? After a good run 
sometimes, and on fine soft spring mornings, riding to 
covert.” 

The General made no answer. There was a lump in his 
throat, and his eyes were full of tears. 

“I’ve left you Magnate. I hope you’ll have many a 
good day out of him. I remembered you liked the horse 
when you bought him for me. Put a light bridle in his 
mouth, and he’ll never turn his head. There was some- 
thing else I wanted to say. Yes, I have it. Keep an eye 
on that boy Perigord, when he goes into the army. They’ve 
sent him to Germany to be coached. It’s a good lad, but 
wildish. Look after him a little for my sake.” 

The other protested that he would keep as tight a hand 
on the youth as if he were his own son. 

“ You’re one of my executors,” continued Dennison. 
“ You’ve not forgotten it, I dare say. There are some poor 
old folks at the Priors we mustn’t leave to starve. I’ve pro- 
vided for that, but any time you are down at Middleton go 
over and say a kind word to them from me. They like the 
sort of thing, and it does them good. I’ve left Emily very 
comfortable. You’ll have no trouble with the lawyers, 
but I can trust you, I know, to make everything as easy for 
her as possible. Emily has always been used to having 
things her own way. This is a long story — like one of old 
Marchare’s after mess. I don’t know if you’re tired, I am. 
Who’s that in the room ! ” 

“ Only the nurse,” answered Pike. “ Somebody Gripes 
sent in.” 

“ Gripes is a good judge,” replied Uncle John, in so 
strong a voice as would have been more encouraging but for 


RELEASED 


339 


the faint whisper to which it immediately fell. u He saw 
it was all up this evening. Tell her to wait in the next 
room ; and make them bring her some tea or whatever she 
likes. It must he dull work for her, poor thing ! It’s not 
a very lively job for you ! ” 

The General made no answer. His face was turned 
away. He was ashamed to let his old friend see how com- 
pletely he had broken down. 

In fainter accents, and with obvious effort, Uncle John 
continued his directions. 

“ Mrs. Parkes is to have the cottage rent free, and old 
Veal must not he turned out of his farm. I’ve left some- 
thing to be divided among the servants, and pensioned off 
three. Tiptop is to live idle in the paddock for the rest of 
his days. Oh ! write and tell Foster I arranged about 
enclosing the Osiers before I was ill. There’s nothing else, 
I think. No ; it’s all off my mind now. I’m like a fellow 
who has got his portmanteau packed and nothing to do hut 
to wait for the train. I say, I wonder where I shall he this 
time to-morrow.” 

“In Heaven!” blurted the General. “If you're not 
good enough, I don’t know who is ! ” 

“Good enough!” repeated the other. “If you only 
knew, my dear old friend, how weak, how selfish, how 
ungrateful, how wicked I have often been ! And yet I hope 
and I trust — and, somehow, I don’t feel so much afraid. 
It’s not so terrible as I thought. Thank you for coming, 
old friend ! I can face it better with you to back me up. 
I hope it’s not wrong, but I had rather have you with me 
at this moment than the Archbishop of Canterbury.” 

With an aching heart the General returned the pressure 
of the kind hand he held. 

“ Perhaps I shall see poor Harry,” continued the weak 
voice, falling fainter and fainter as the controlling mind 
began to wander, drifting, as it were, from its moorings, 
with the ebb of an inevitable tide, “ and Fitzjames, and 
dear little Bankes, who died when you got your promotion. 
I’ll tell them we often talked about them down here. It’s 
getting very dark. Don’t go, Pike. They might tell 
Emily now. She’d be disappointed not to say good-bye. 
It’s very late. I’m so tired I can hardly keep my eyes 


340 


UNCLE JOHN 


open. Have you sent the horses on ? Good-night, Pike ; 
good-night, everybody. I am to he called at daybreak ! 
Don’t be late, Pike. God bless you. Good-night ! ” 

Laura had already hastened to Mrs. Dennison’s room 
and tapped at her door. Aunt Emily, who was trying in 
vain to sleep, hoping, to do her justice, that she might 
thus gain strength for many a future night-watch by her 
husband’s bed, leapt to her feet in an instant, and hurried 
down to the death-chamber, scarcely noticing the messenger, 
mistaking her, indeed, in the dimly-lighted passage for one 
of her own servants. 

Pike rose on her entrance and yielded her his place, for 
the hand he held had no pulsation in it now, and a finer 
ear than the General’s could not have detected whether or 
no respiration had wholly ceased, that the spirit, sublimed 
from its earthly covering, might return to God. 

But Laura knew that her ministrations could be of no 
further use, and so with wet eyes and an aching heart, 
departed noiseless and unrecognised as she came. 

Sadly, solemnly, in unutterable sorrow, and unspoken 
prayer, the wife and the comrade watched by his sense- 
less form who had been the kindest of husbands, and the 
best of friends. 

Aunt Emily was persuaded that, although his eyes were 
fixed and dim, she had caught the last pressure of his hand ; 
that when the grey light of morning, stealing through the 
window-curtains, settled on the pale fixed face, a farewell 
smile for her was lingering in the calm features of the dead. 

Perhaps she was right. It would have been cruel to 
undeceive her if she was wrong. 

So the dawn flushed and brightened, the day woke up, 
and fifty paces off, round the corner, a bird began to sing in 
the gardens of Guelph Square. 


CHAPTER XXX 


RESTORED 

Laura stole quietly into the street, and lifting her veil that 
she might drink in long deep breaths of the fresh morning 
air, paced slowly the deserted pavement, thinking of many 
things. 

From Homer downwards (and what a long way it is to 
the bottom of the hill !) poets of every grade have sung the 
phrases of rosy-fingered Aurora, as if she were indeed the 
goddess of good spirits, good humour, hope, happiness, and 
enjoyment ! Now to my mind, and, I think, on reflection, 
many late sitters-up and early risers will agree with me, the 
hour of dawn, as it is the coldest, seems also the most 
melancholy of the twenty-four. I am not alluding to 
those early stirrers, who, long before the conclusion of their 
natural rest, are either unhreakfasted or have eaten a bad 
breakfast with little appetite ; nor do I expect sympathy from 
that roysterer, who, having supped heartily, not without 
champagne, at midnight, puts his fifth cigar in his mouth, 
and faces daybreak with undefeated cheerfulness, stalking 
home to a bed he has no intention of leaving till two o’clock 
in the afternoon. But I imagine that, insisting on the 
mournfulness of “morning,” I express the sentiments of 
most men and women, who, watching, travelling, or keeping 
any other necessary vigil, have found themselves com- 
pelled to see the sun rise, when they would much rather 
have been fast asleep between closed curtains in a darkened 
room. 

Desire, it has been said, springs from separation. Thus, 
I think, some of our strongest feelings are called forth by 


342 


UNCLE JOHN 


contrast. There is much deep and painful truth in the 
sentiment of Byron’s beautiful lines. 

“ But when I stood beneath the fresh green tree, 

Which living waves, where thou did’st cease to live, 

And saw around me the wide field revive 
With fruits and fertile promise, and the Spring 
Come forth her work of gladness to contrive 
With all her reckless birds upon the wing, 

I turned from all she brought to those she could not bring.” 

So when the conscience is stained by guilt, is there not 
reproach in the pure clear morning sky ? So when the 
heart is heavy for grief, is there not a mockery in the bird 
with its morning carol, the breeze with its morning freshness, 
and earth herself with her smiling morning face ? A man 
looks at the moon, and sighs for that which might be ; but 
he turns away from the dawn, with a groan for that which 
can never be again ! 

There are rolling clouds about the car of Eos, Goddess 
of Morning, but Mnemosyne, Goddess of Memory, sits dim 
and indistinct among the vapours ; dimmer and more in- 
distinct that we are looking for her through a mist of tears. 

Laura’s eyes turned wistfully to the dappled clouds, rose- 
tinted with beams that, far below the lofty wall of houses, 
were already breaking in splinters of fire along the horizon, 
and wondered if ever again she would feel the dead weight 
lifted from her heart, find hope in the sunrise, happiness in 
the brightening day. The risk she had lately run seemed 
but to have fed her fierce longing, sharpened her cruel 
hunger, to look in Lexley’s face once more. 

On just such a morning she remembered travelling with 
him, a week after their marriage, in an open carriage by 
themselves, among the Welsh mountains. She could see 
his kind eyes bent down to meet her own. She could hear 
his earnest voice repeating for the twentieth time the old 
fond tale. 

“ Dearest,” it whispered, “ I have been a happy and a 
prosperous man, but I never believed life had anything to 
offer equal to this ! You have shown me that there is a 
Heaven here on earth. God forbid I should ever have to 
learn the lesson it is my weekly duty to teach, that there is 
no unalloyed happiness on this side the grave ! ” 


BESTOBED 


343 


Had lie learned the lesson now, she wondered, and how 
had he accepted it ? Was the trial too severe? Had he 
endured it with the courage of a brave man, the resignation 
of a good one ? Or had he broken down under the test, 
giving way, like many a weaker nature, to unavailing com- 
plaints, or sinking in a sullen helpless despair ? Oh ! no, 
she prayed not ! She trusted not ! And yet she did not 
quite wish him to bear it, as well as she hoped ! 

And what was left for her ? A loveless life of endless 
drudgery, of unavailing effort, of solitude, repining, and 
woe ! 

She saw herself going down into the future a middle- 
aged woman, with grey hair, whose comeliness had departed 
as the colour fades out of a flower in the dark, watching by 
the sick beds of those who would consider gold, if not silver, 
an equivalent for offices and attentions that might tax the 
purest friendship, the sincerest love. She saw herself 
sallying forth, morning after morning, to the uncongenial 
task, returning day after day from the irksome labour, 
wasting health and strength, devoting life and limb, and 
all for what? 

The unaccustomed tears rose in her eyes while an angel 
whispered at her heart — “ It is for his sake ! ” 

Yes, for his sake, to whom she had given the mature 
love of her womanhood, to whose honour she had willingly 
offered up her own happiness, learning in her cruel sacrifice 
the great lesson that teaches how earthly affection for the 
one, expanding into benevolence for the many, rises at last 
into noble adoration for the Maker and Protector of all. 

“At least,” she thought, “though it he hut an atom 
in the great Scheme, this lonely, loveless life will not have 
been wasted, and if I am permitted to form a link, however 
trifling, in the great chain of brotherhood that makes the 
world happier, purer, better, it little matters what becomes of 
the poor unit Me. I can lift my eyes fearlessly to Heaven, 
and say from a truthful heart — Thy will he done ! ” 

The birds were singing merrily now, in full chorus, 
among the trees and bushes of Guelph Square. The 
morning sunshine was gilding chimneys and house-tops. 
A fresh westerly breeze was wafting into London the many 
perfumes of Spring, and Laura, lifting her own fair face to 


344 


UNCLE JOHN 


meet the smile of morning, felt like the Ancient Mariner 
when he learned to pray, that a weight was taken off her 
heart. 

The milkman had already begun his rounds. It was later 
than she thought, too late to go to bed now. She had not 
seen a bit of green for months ; she would compass Guelph 
Square once, the walk would do her good, and then, striking 
into one of the great eastern thoroughfares, make her way 
home. 

Guelph Square looked very tempting, with its gardens 
bursting into that tender green foliage which is the most 
becoming garb of Spring. Laura made its circuit more 
than once, and emerging on her homeward thoroughfare, 
found the day so far advanced that she was glad to hail 
an early omnibus, lumbering along, empty and solitary, 
towards the City. 

Lowering her veil she passed through to take her seat at 
the far end, under an advertisement of some unknown article, 
spelt with all the consonants in the alphabet. 

The pace of an omnibus is, in my opinion, most dis- 
tressing to inside passengers; alternating, as it does, 
between a lumber and a jolt. The annoyance, too, of 
continual stoppages to take up and set down fares, is 
enhanced for persons of irritable disposition, by the in- 
scrutable conduct of that functionary on the step, who 
seems always about to perform some acrobatic feat or 
practical joke, which, provokingly, never comes off. When 
empty, there is something inexpressibly depressing in the 
contemplation of its dirty floor-cloth and stuffy plush 
cushions ; when full as that became in which Laura was 
seated, long before she had done with it, there seems 
united in this ingenious contrivance the maximum of 
discomfort with the minimum of despatch. It is difficult 
to say whether you suffer most from your next neighbour’s 
elbows or your opposite neighbour’s knees, till pulled up 
with a jerk that jumbles you all into a promiscuous heap, 
you decide there is little to choose between any of the angular 
articulations that provide flexibility for the human frame. 

Your eyes, too, are subject to a like constraint with your 
limbs. If they meet the conductor’s, he immediately insists 
on stopping to set you down. If you glance to right or 


BESTOBED 


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left, those on each side place their hands in a position to 
protect their pockets ; if you look across, the lady opposite 
lowers her veil with an austere frown, or, more alarming 
still, responds with a hold stare and a smile ! Discomfited 
and ashamed, you take refuge at last in the contemplation 
of a pair of worn black gloves, an umbrella, and a basket. 

Desirable as may be the interior of this ark for a refuge 
in bad weather, I confess that on a fine morning I much 
prefer the outside. So did Lexley. 

He, too, had been at the house in Guelph Street, and 
learned the sad tidings of Uncle John’s decease. Having 
called the previous evening, he received from the servants 
so alarming an account of Mr. Dennison’s state that the 
image of his kind friend lying on a bed of death haunted 
him through the night. He could not rest in uncertainty, 
and rose therefore with early morning, to obtain fresh 
intelligence and learn the truth. Thus, it fell out, that 
he arrived at the door in Guelph Street not many minutes 
after Laura had left it ; thus, it fell out, that mounting the 
very omnibus in which she was returning to the City, he sat 
on its roof, with the heel of his hoot not many inches 
removed from the fair face he still worshipped so fondly, 
so devotedly, but that he never hoped to see in this world 
again ! 

In this world ? No. To such sad conclusion he seemed 
at last reconciled. The revulsion of feeling that succeeded 
his discovery of the real truth in Middleton Gaol, had been 
almost as dangerous to reason as that first crushing blow 
which so prostrated him, when his judgment told him, 
though his heart would not believe it, that the woman he 
loved was an object of scorn, fallen too low to he even 
worth contempt. We have seen how a powerful nature and a 
-well-balanced mind carried him through both trials, and we 
also know that the disappointment of seeking her in vain 
through crowded London, was in proportion to the un- 
reasonable exultation he had experienced, when he learned 
that not only Laura might still be his own, but that she had 
proved herself worthy, and more than worthy, of the place 
he gave her in his home and heart. Had it not been so, 
would she have had that place still ? His was a mind that 
never shrank from self-examination, and it had solved that 


346 


UNCLE JOHN 


question once for all. The home ? No. The heart ? Yes. 
He loved her as only such men can love, and though the 
shrine had been ever so polluted, the image ever so defaced, 
the incense he had burned in the temple still hung about 
its ruins, the spot where he had knelt, were it even in the 
ignorance of idolatry, was still and always must be a border 
of holy ground. 

But when days wore to weeks and months, yet brought no 
tidings, it is small wonder that hope gave way. He could 
not quite realise to himself that she had no means of veri- 
fying Delaney’s death, and that the same noble sentiment 
which caused her to leave home would still keep her con- 
cealed from his loving search. He thought she must be 
dead, that she must have passed away under a false name 
to an unknown grave, hut even from this desponding con- 
clusion the sting was taken out by his belief that she had 
only gone on to where he would follow in due time ; that if 
she might never walk by his side a wife in the sight of 
man, he could fold her in his heart a wife in the sight of 
God. 

Mourning her, as he meant to do all his life, this was 
why he had yesterday resisted Annie’s entreaties to attend 
the wedding breakfast ; this was why, sitting on the rdof 
of the omnibus in the bright spring sunshine, he was 
thinking of her now. 

There is something in the sky that suggests to the rudest 
of us, we know not why, a vague yearning for the unknown, 
a vague perception of the infinite, a vague consciousness 
of immortality. Turning his face to heaven, Lexley felt, 
surely as if an angel had told him, that he would see his 
love again. 

He little dreamed how soon. 

At the next turning hut one, he hade the driver set him 
down. At the very next turning the omnibus stopped for 
a lady thickly veiled and dressed in black to get out. 

Lexley, looking at the sky, would not have noticed her, 
but that while paying her fare, she dropped a shilling in 
the mud, and before she could pick it up, the conductor, 
moved no doubt by the favourable appearance of his 
passenger, stooped nimbly down to recover and restore the 
coin. 


















































TVT 



Uncle John] 


[Page 347 


|T- j_iyyrrlM 


BESTOBED 


847 


“ Thank you ! ” said Laura, nothing more. But Lexley, 
starting as if he was shot, jumped from the roof in two 
bounds, flung the conductor lialf-a-crown, and, without 
waiting for change, strode after the retreating figure of the 
lady in black, as fast as his long legs would carry him. 

“ Bill, did ye see that ! ” said the last-named functionary 
to his coadjutor on the box, biting at the same time the 
half-crown he had caught with much dexterity, to satisfy 
himself it was genuine, and winking freely, while the vehicle 
rolled on. 

Subsequently, over a pint of beer, he expressed his 
opinion at greater length on the whole proceeding. I 
regret to say it was by no means flattering to the morals 
of the Established Church. 

Turning down the bye-street that led to her home, Laura 
was aware of hasty footsteps following in pursuit. Looking 
back she found herself face to face with her husband. 

Yes, surely he was her husband, or else when the pave- 
ment seemed turning round, and she held by the area- 
railings, lest she should fall, why was the kind voice in her 
ear, the strong arm round her waist, the loving eyes that 
haunted her dreams, looking fondly, frankly, fearlessly, into 
her own ? 

They did not rush into each other’s embrace with tears 
and sobs and foolish gestures. How could they, with a 
policeman and a pot-boy looking on? But they walked 
soberly away arm-in-arm, and Lexley must have told her in 
a few words much that has been here narrated of their 
strange vicissitudes, to account for the following observa- 
tion : 

“ Then it has all to be done over again ; darling, how 
delightful ! And, Algy ! you haven’t moved one of the 
rose-trees from under my window at home ! ” 

The roses are still blooming, fresher and fairer than 
ever, on the lawn before the Parsonage. Mrs. Lexley 
tends them, no doubt, with exceeding care, but there is a 
little rose-bud upstairs, not in a vase of water, but in a 
thing of twilling and bows and laces called a “ berceaunette 
that, being the first blossom of her graft, takes up a great 
deal of her time. This prodigy is called Laura, and Lexley 
firmly believes she will grow up to a piece of unrivalled 


348 


UNCLE JOHN 


perfection like her mother, a queen of women, as the Rose 
is Queen of Flowers. 

He sees them both in the light of a love that has been 
tried in the furnace, to come out purer, brighter, and more 
precious than refined gold. 

I have culled the motto that heads these chapters from 
an ancient volume, containing, perhaps, more of the stuff 
out of which romance and fiction are fabricated than any 
other book in the world. As a cook selects for the stock 
from which to make her soup, good wholesome beef, rich, 
succulent, and close in fibre, such as will bear the cut-and- 
come-again of the carving knife, so from the Morte d’ Arthur, 
many of our greatest authors have compounded savoury 
dishes on which our intellects delight to feed ; one of our 
greatest poets has drawn again and again the stengtli and 
savour which renders the banquet he has provided an im- 
perishable feast for gods and men. 

Lavish of incident, if somewhat wordy in narrative, 
grand in conception, if a little tiresome in detail, noble in 
sentiment, even when most exaggerated in expression, this 
old-world history seems an exponent of all that Gothic fire 
and hardihood which Christian faith moulded into chivalry. 
Anything finer and more impracticable than the aspirations 
of King Arthur in his institution of the round table, is not 
to be found in literature. That “ monarch bold ” has been 
for after ages the type of all that, in its highest, purest, 
noblest sense, constitutes The Gentleman. In his glorious 
scheme of banding together a Brotherhood, united in 
enterprise, loyalty, and devotion, for whom no tasks should 
be too arduous, no adventures too full of danger, are found 
the germs of every effort that has since been made to 
instruct and benefit mankind, from the shaven Jesuit 
crucified in China to the frozen mariner, stiff and stark on 
an ice-berg with his face to the North Pole. The character 
of Arthur, upright, generous, unselfish, incapable of suspicion, 
as of fear, is the ideal of all we most revere and love. His 
history, and that of his knights, may be considered as a 
parable, teaching men to what lofty aims they ought to soar, 
teaching them also to what profound depths of sin and 
sorrow they are prone to sink. Yes, Launcelot and 
Tristram stand forth, one on each side of “ the self-less, 


RESTORED 


349 


stainless king,” gigantic figures, moulded in heroic pro- 
portions, to afford warning even as they compel admiration, 
fallen because of the very qualities that raised them above 
their fellows, dishonoured in regard to that very honour by 
which they set such priceless store. Alas, for truth when 
Tristram could deceive ! Alas, for loyalty when Launcelot 
rode under shield against his Lord ! Alas, for the lower, 
weaker natures, whom these great hearts drew down in 
their disgrace ! Alas, for the girdle of steel that, but 
for base alloy, was to have compassed the earth ! Alas, 
for the flowers of chivalry, that 

“ The trail of the serpent was over them all ! ” 

Yet what a garland it was once ! In the noble time 
before that fatal morning when Guinevere and the court 
went a-maying, 

“ Green-suited, and in plumes that mocked the May.” 

When, year by year, as Pentecost came round, the 
sovereign and brother in arms gathered his knights about 
him to reward their exploits, hear their adventures, take 
counsel of their experience, inciting them by precept and 
example, to greater efforts and higher aims. When the 
tournament glittered by day, and the wine-cup blushed at 
night ; when trumpets pealed and minstrels sang ; when 
knights encountered in the saddle, frankly as they pledged 
each other at the board ; w r hen the goblet was emptied to 
the dregs, the lance shivered to the grasp, while through 
the mimic war, the mirthful revelry, through the tramp of 
horses, the din of feasts, the rustle of silk, the clang of 
steel, and the whispers of peerless dames, whose bright 
eyes travelled over all, there still predominated the one 
paramount rule of “ Courtesy,” which seemed indeed the 
very essence and origin of the whole. 

And in what consisted this Courtesy, this Gentleness, 
which every knight assumed, indigenous to and inseparable 
from his very knighthood ? Was it not courage, that 
feared no earthly evil but shame ? Humility, that, doing 
its best and bravest, set its comrade’s achievements ever 


350 


UNCLE JOHN 


before its own. Last at the feast, first in the fray, yielding 
the place of honour to all, the post of danger to none ! 
Faith, believing frankly in its brother, trusting humbly in 
its God ? Hope, aiming at its highest standard ? Charity, 
stooping to the lowest need ? Was it not indeed an effort 
after that pure and holy unselfishness which centuries 
earlier had walked the earth barefoot, though, being human, 
the imitation was therefore imperfect and fallible, while 
compelled by the needs of the middle ages to ride in steel ? 

Nobody can read the Morte d’ Arthur without observing 
the extraordinary discrepancy that exists between the 
sentiments it inculcates and the conduct of those whose 
doings in love and war it records, approvingly and without 
the slightest reproach. This I attribute less to the morals 
than the manners of the age for which it was composed. 
The writer, in common with his readers, had learned none 
of those tricks of rhetoric in which modern authors, while 
they insist strenuously on the fact, veil the shocking declara- 
tion that “we are all naked under our clothes,” and, 
doubtless, on occasion, he calls a spade a spade, with a 
freedom against which we cannot too strongly protest. 
These are mere questions of detail, in no way affecting its 
main object, and but slightly detracting from the sterling 
merits of the work. What I insist on is the sentiment 
that pervades the whole, the high standard which a gentle 
knight was ever striving to attain, that combination of 
courage and meekness of the soldier with the Christian, 
which forms, if not the most admirable, certainly the most 
amiable, and perhaps not the least useful character humanity 
can adopt. 

They gave and took hard knocks, these grand old knights, 
but it was rather to redress wrongs than, as the quaint 
black letter English expresses it, to “ win worship.” And 
though they fought like devils, they prayed like saints 
behind their visors all the time. A good steed, a stout arm, 
and a long sword constituted but a part of the warlike outfit 
they deemed incomplete without a pious, trustful heart. 
Calling on God to help them, they went resolutely into 
battle against any odds, and in all the affairs of life believed 
and acted up to their belief, that heaven was on his side 
who struggled manfully for the right. 


RESTORED 


351 


One of these grim old champions has embodied in two 
lines a comprehensive creed to carry men triumphantly 
though the most perilous enterprises, as to guide them 
safely over the shoals and quicksands of common life. 

He will fail in few of his undertakings, nor will his heart 
sink under the bitterest reverses who can say with stout 
King Pellinore, 

“ Me fortkinketh, this shall betide, but God may well 
foredoe destiny 1 ” 


Ube Oteabam iprcss 


UNWIN BROTHERS, 


WOKING AND LONDON. 




































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JUN 8 190Q 


















